One Man's Trash
by ebfiddler
Summary: The crew delivers a cargo of cattle to Beylix for Sir Warwick Harrow. Jayne encounters someone from his past, and Mal discovers why River keeps quoting a certain aphorism. Humor/Action/Drama, and yes, some Romance, too.  Eighth in series.
1. Chapter 1

One Man's Trash, Part 1a

The eighth story in a series that begins with A Lion's Mouth. Follows Shadow.

_A/N: Rating: All my stories are PG to PG-13 to occasional R. You will not find detailed descriptions of blood, gore, and sex, but you will find situations appropriate for mature readers, innuendo, implication, and (gasp) swear words. This story is PG-13, edging toward R._

_Thanks to my sister for beta reading. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my stories. It's a wonderful feeling to know that someone has enjoyed reading what I've written._

_Kaylee wants to know: How many children do you want?_

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><p>She was genuinely curious. In fact, she wanted to know the answer for everybody on the boat. "So, you ever thought about it? How many children you want, Ip?"<p>

"Oh, uh, I don't know, the usual, I guess." Ip hadn't really thought about it. Not that he _didn't_ want children, eventually, some day. It was just that, what with grad school, and his post doc at Blue Sun, and now living an itinerant life, with only temporary employment, he just wasn't really at a place in his life where thoughts of settling down and having a family entered his mind. "What about you?" he asked to be polite.

"Oh, lots and lots of them," Kaylee answered promptly. "Three, minimum. Four or five, easy. Six maybe." She caught Simon's expression and quickly realized that _he _was not prepared for the notion of six children. In fact, looking at his face, maybe not prepared for children at all. They hadn't really reached the point of discussing _this_, exactly, in their relationship. "But that's just 'cause I love kids," she said quickly, covering. "I love all kids. They're so cute an' cuddly an' sweet…"

"—An' dirty diapers, an' snotty noses, an' screechin' an' hollerin' an' fightin' over toys," Jayne interrupted Kaylee's idyll. "An' sneakin' out after their bedtimes an' skippin' school an' raisin' hell and usin' the mule without permission and crashin' it an' gettin' knocked up by their no-account 傻瓜 shǎguā boyfriends—"

"My goodness, what kind of childhood did _you_ have, Jayne?" Inara asked with contained amusement.

"The kind with too gorram many sisters," Jayne grumbled.

"So how many children do you want, then?" Inara asked him.

"Not a one. Ain't gonna have any," Jayne said, folding his arms, as if that settled the matter.

"What about you, River?" Kaylee asked with a smile.

"None," River said, with a glittery smile that encompassed Ip.

"Aw, honey, you shouldn't say that—" Kaylee began.

"—for now," River continued. "Later, 2.54."

"2.54?" Ip inquired.

"The statistical average," River responded. "The usual." She grinned across the table at her brother, who was looking a bit appalled—equal parts floored by Kaylee's earlier statement and by the mere idea of his baby sister having…children. "Simon wants the usual, too."

Kaylee stared at Simon, who blushed crimson. "River! I…well, yes, two, I think. One boy and one girl. Maybe three. But this is all theoretical, isn't it? I mean, I'm not thinking of having any children _now._"

"I'd say you are," Jayne said with a leer. "Or at least you're practicing pretty damn—"

"Jayne," said Mal in a warning voice, but stopped when he saw that Kaylee wasn't in the least offended. Besides, it was kinda fun watching the Doc get all uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Simon and Kaylee's nocturnal exercises were notorious throughout the ship, being both loud and frequent. Everybody knew that if and when the couple decided to have children, they'd be in _very_ good practice. Simon was sputtering, but Kaylee was grinning from ear to ear.

"What about you, Cap'n?" Kaylee asked, all smiles.

He couldn't help but grin back at her. "Oh, four. Maybe five," he said without thinking.

"You musta been an only child," Jayne returned with disgust.

"Yeah," Mal acknowledged.

"Ain't you heard what I said about all them sisters?"

"I grew up with four brothers, Jayne," Kaylee answered, "an' it was just shiny."

_Wash had two brothers, _Zoe thought to herself. Always wanted a girl. Herself, she was an only child, like Mal.

Mal caught the look on Inara's face. Oh, boy—he hadn't even been thinking when he opened his mouth. He couldn't make out quite what she was thinking, but he could tell that the notion of five children wasn't sittin' well with her. "'Course I ain't gonna have no four or five," Mal amended. "Count myself lucky to have even a one." He was relieved to see Inara relax ever so slightly.

Funnily enough, it was Inara herself who had got him thinking about children in the first place. It wasn't since before the war that he'd even considered the notion of having a family of his own. Back then, he was so young that all notions of marriage and family belonged to the distant future. But he realized that after the war, he'd pretty well given up on the notion of having a normal relationship, marriage, family. He was broken, damaged goods, an outlaw, and family life weren't for the likes of him. But then he'd found himself married to Saffron—or at least he thought he was for a time—and Inara had said, "I wish you hundreds of fat children." Immediately his mind was filled with the image of himself surrounded by roly-poly little critters, and strangely enough, the notion was pleasing. At first it was vague, non-specific children, fuzzy-haired critters that he chased and wrassled with and taught what he knew. Later on, his dreams about children had become a lot more specific. And he knew who he wanted their mother to be.

"What about you, Zoe?" Mal asked with a smile, in part to draw Inara's attention away from the hot potato between them. But it was also a deliberate effort to include Zoe in the group. No way she should sit excluded from this discussion.

Kaylee smothered a gasp. How could the Captain be so insensitive? Reminding Zoe of what she could never have, now Wash was—

"One," Zoe answered promptly, with a brilliant smile that astonished everyone. "Exactly one. Might as well let you all know. Due to arrive in about five months' time."

The table erupted with congratulations and good wishes. Zoe basked in smiles. She accepted the exclamations, answered the questions, and looked genuinely happy for one of the first times since Wash's death. Mal sat there grinning like a fool.

. . .

Ip Neumann went to take data readings from the grav anomaly unit situated in the cargo bay. The Captain was hard at work, cleaning up after the cows. Ip had been surprised earlier in the voyage to find that Serenity's Captain took a turn doing what he would have supposed to be the lowest of low manual labor, shoveling manure. But during the course of the voyage, he had come to understand the situation much better. Jayne did the work because he was the muscle of the crew, and it was his job. Zoe took an occasional turn, but spent more of her time piloting and doing whatever executive functions the first officer performed. (Ip still had only the vaguest notion of what those duties entailed.) River and Kaylee were excused cattle-tending because their jobs on Serenity were already more demanding. Simon and Inara seemed to get a bye on the job—he wasn't sure if that was a concession to their education, gentle Core-breeding, or simply because it was clear how inept they would be at it. In Inara's case he wondered if she even owned any suitable clothing. He chuckled to himself, picturing the Companion showing up for cow duty in a watered silk kimono and high heels.

Ip understood that for the Captain, tending the cattle was both nostalgic and therapeutic. Now that he knew that the man had grown up on a ranch on Shadow, he realized that every smooth, rhythmic motion the Captain made as he moved among the beasts brought him a kind of comfort, gently reminding him of the home he had lost. And after the incident on the bridge, Ip understood that the Captain also sought refuge in the physical labor. The man seemed to avoid sleep, and in truth, Ip thought he would, too, if nightmares like the Captain's awaited him.

Ip preferred to take his readings when the Captain was tending the cattle, because the Captain always cleared a path for him to the experimental unit, a courtesy that he appreciated. The Captain was also interested in his work, and would ask him how the data were shaping up, sometimes offering keen observations of his own. Today was no exception.

"How go the experiments, Dr Ip?" Mal asked, leaning against his shovel.

"Very well, Captain," Ip replied. It was a little hard to think here in the midst of a barnyard—well, alright, cargo bay-turned-barnyard—with all the mooing cattle in close proximity. Ip found it distracting. The Captain didn't seem bothered at all. Looked perfectly at home. "The crazy thing is, all that unexpected, uh, 'excitement' around Shadow was just the thing for the grav anomaly experiment." Ip still shuddered inwardly at their narrow escape—chased by a ship they couldn't see, the Reavers closing in, saved unexpectedly by the Reavers' collision with the stealth ship. "Especially the sudden burst of speed," when Kaylee got the fusion drive on line and the ship went to hard burn. "Professor Rao was immensely pleased with the preliminary data."

"You waved her, then?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, I hope you'll let her know, I ain't repeating that experiment, no matter how much she likes the data. Not in any mood to get hunted by Reavers again."

"Captain, there's something you should know."

Mal looked at Ip expectantly.

"When we were outside the boat, and spotted the transports, I re-directed some of the mass spectrometers toward the ships." Mal nodded. "Those spectrometers were designed to analyze the composition of the planet just below the surface layer. They penetrate several feet below the surface—for example through a sand dune, lake, or ash fall—to analyze the mineral content of the soil or rock beneath. So they're not exactly designed for what I used them for. Still, the spectra I obtained from the ships—after eliminating the artifacts created by the curved metal hulls—"

"Would you cut to the chase, Dr Ip?" Mal interjected, losing his patience somewhat.

"The ships appeared to be carrying mineral ore. Ore with a high content of the stable trans-actinide element linthicum."

Mal nodded. He immediately worked out the implications. Linthicum was an incredibly valuable substance, as certain isotopes of the element were a critical component of fuel cells. It was also relatively rare, not even found on many planets. "Linthicum reserves were discovered on Shadow about a decade before the war," he told Ip. "It's one of the reasons we fought for our independence."

Mal remembered the controversy quite well—it had been the talk of Shadow throughout his teenage years. Some Alliance corporation had made an offer almost as soon as the reserves were discovered, before the extent of them had been determined. Some folk on Shadow felt that the offer should be accepted—seemed generous to them, and Shadow didn't need—couldn't possibly use—all that linthicum for its own purposes. There'd been arguments. At last the Shadow World Council had authorized an independent survey of linthicum resources. The survey had never been completed, but preliminary findings suggested that the reserves were vaster, by far, than the original estimate. Suddenly the corporation's offer looked like robbery. Some argued that Shadow shouldn't sign over mineral rights at all, but license limited ore extraction operations. There were others, still, who felt that the extraction process would ruin the planet, ruin the Shadow way of life, and that no price was high enough to compensate for that. The corporation had renewed its offer, with a few more concessions to the people of Shadow and a lot more aggressive representatives, sent to Shadow to bombard the local leadership with carrots and sticks. The Alliance itself had shown an inclination to step in and claim the mineral resources for its own. The argument was still in full flow when the war broke out.

Mal had counted eighty-seven transports before he got distracted—seriously distracted—by the stealth ship and the Reavers. He estimated that there were about three times as many as what he counted. Based on his estimate of the tonnage of the ships he'd seen, he made a quick calculation of the quantity of linthicum ore those ships could carry, and the answer made him whistle. This wasn't some casual raider. This was a full-scale mining operation, with a rate of production high enough to warrant the presence of a transport fleet that size, and to warrant the maintenance of a stealth guard ship.

"Someone is raping Shadow."

. . .

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glossary

傻瓜 shǎguā [fool]

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><p><em>Your feedback is most appreciated! Please leave a comment or review.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

One Man's Trash, Part 1b

_In which we find out why Sir Warwick Harrow wanted to ship a herd of cattle to Beylix_

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><p>Serenity landed in a pasture on Beylix, far from any town, far from the public docks, and (most importantly) far from any customs inspectors. The contact was waiting for them. Mal had spoken to the woman on the cortex, and his gut instinct told him there would be no trouble, but his last meeting with buyers of Sir Warwick Harrow's cattle had ended with Shepherd Book receiving a near-fatal gunshot, and he was taking no chances. Mal lowered the outer ramp, but only opened the personnel hatch, not the bay door, until he had assessed the situation. With Zoe and Jayne watching his back, he walked out to meet the contact.<p>

She was tall and thin, towering over Mal and even Jayne with a statuesque presence. With her deeply dark skin and regal features, she looked like a queen, and it was saying something that next to her, even Zoe looked a little dowdy.

She stood alone in the meadow, and although she had come in a vehicle, she had left it standing outside the gate of the pasture, parked on a dirt track that led between the rows of fencing to the far horizon. Although Beylix had earned itself the moniker "Garbage Dump of the Kalidasa System," people tended to forget that most of the planet was rural. It was the very sparseness of the population that had led the local government into the business of receiving and storing other worlds' waste. No people to protest that they didn't want the dump in their backyard. So the parts of Beylix that weren't occupied by dumps, landfills, recycling plants, salvage yards and storage facilities for hazardous waste were occupied by open rangeland and farms, as far as the eye could see. Ironically, towns sprang up around the dumps, because that's where the jobs were.

The woman stood alone, a sign of trust. She also did not appear to be armed. She did have back-up, but they had remained in the vehicle. She spread her arms in welcome as she greeted them in her rich voice. "Welcome to Beylix, Captain Reynolds. I am Juju Kamara."

Mal stepped forward, hands relaxed but not straying far from his sides. Wouldn't do to let down his guard just yet. Her back-up people could have long-range weapons. Yet her next words surprised him.

"I am most grateful for your delivery, Captain. Long have I awaited the arrival of these cattle. Sir Warwick bred them specially for me, but he was unable to ship them until he happily thought of contracting your services. May I view the animals?"

Mal led the way, and Juju Kamara strode up the ramp like the Queen of Sheba entering the court of Solomon. She nodded with approval at the giant septic vac and the other accommodations installed for the cattle, who were placidly chewing their cud. Mal and Jayne had done a thorough shoveling and cleaning shortly before landing, and the cargo bay looked and smelled remarkably good, considering how long the cattle had been confined aboard Serenity.

"The cattle have arrived in remarkably good health," Juju pronounced after assessing the animals with a practiced eye.

Mal accepted the praise with good grace. He was wondering what basis she had for her pronouncement when she said, "Beylix is a difficult world for cattle. You might imagine it ideal, with all this range land, no?"

Mal agreed that the land looked suitable.

"Most breeds of cattle, however, do not thrive on Beylix. The local government has blamed imported bovine diseases, so there are many, many restrictions on imported cattle. They are quarantined for weeks, and even if a herd arrives healthy, by the time they are released from quarantine, they are sickly or dead."

"That sounds like a remarkable unhealthy quarantine," Mal commented.

"It is so," she agreed. "Sir Warwick has bred these animals to my specifications. He is a talented cattle breeder, even though for him it is a hobby that he engages in for his own amusement."

Mal tried to put himself in the mindset of a person who bred cattle as an amusing hobby, and failed.

"You have asked yourselves, I am sure, why Sir Warwick has sent me a herd, instead of calves or embryos?" she asked regally, including Jayne in her question.

It had never occurred to Jayne to wonder, and he looked it, but Mal replied, "Yes indeed, ma'am, I've been puzzling that over ever since we got the job."

"Sir Warwick has challenged and hardened these animals. Not only have they been bred to be hardy to the Beylix environment, but they have already faced and survived most bovine diseases in the known 'Verse. This is a most remarkable herd."

"Why didn't Sir Warwick ship you no bull, then?" Mal asked.

"The bull," Juju replied with a smile, "already resides here."

. . .

Juju Kamara's back-up people turned out to be her teenaged son and daughter. She called them over to Serenity to help herd the cattle out of the ship and into the far pasture so they would be at a safe distance when the ship took off.

"You know cattle, Captain," she stated, as Mal led a heifer down the ramp to the meadow. It wasn't a question.

"I grew up on a ranch," he replied. "Having the cattle aboard these past few weeks has let me re-live some fine memories."

She gave a knowing smile. "On which world did you grow up, Captain?"

"Shadow," he replied with a far-away look.

She nodded, but made no immediate comment. Eventually she said, "I am from Bandiagara." Mal knew very little about Bandiagara, a Rim world that was remote enough and insignificant enough that even most other Rim-worlders didn't pay it much notice. He remembered that, briefly, during the war, Bandiagara had attracted some attention as a source of certain rare minerals useful in manufacturing some kind of war materiel, he couldn't quite remember what. The war had ended, word had spread that the mineral resources weren't so significant after all, and the remote world had faded out of the news to obscurity once more. "I came to Beylix to marry my husband. I should like for you to meet him, and my family. Will you, and your crew, join us for the midday meal on Friday, immediately after noon prayers?"

"It would be our pleasure, ma'am, thank you kindly," Mal answered, knowing that he could not neglect any opportunity of forwarding a business contact. This cattle job had gotten them to Beylix, but they had yet to find another job to take them away from Beylix.

"Eat and sleep, eat and sleep. Little souls, big world," River said, as she calmly led a cow down the ramp. "They were waiting to be cows, inside. Now they see the sky and they remember what they are."

"A sage observation, poetically stated," Juju Kamara remarked, agreeing with the sentiment. "It makes perfect sense. Cattle need to see the open sky and feel the ground beneath them." She watched as River communed with the animal in the pasture. "Did she grow up on a ranch as well, Captain?"

"No," he replied. "She's my pilot."

"Hiya! Git!" Jayne exclaimed, swatting at the hindquarters of a steer.

"Jayne grew up on an industrial world, ma'am," Mal said by way of excuse, as Juju Kamara narrowed her eyes in disapproval of Jayne's antics. "He's a city boy don't know much about cattle."

"When we gonna dump all that 牛屎 niú shǐ, Mal?" Jayne asked loudly as he passed by, unheeding of the presence of their customer. "Reckon Beylix's as good a place as any to dump 屎 shǐ, don'tcha think? Hiya!"

Jayne trundled off after the animal, oblivious to the matching glares of his Captain and Juju Kamara. Juju turned to the Captain. "Surely you're not thinking of—"

"Not at all, ma'am," Mal hastened to cut off that line of conjecture.

"Beylix authorities are very particular about dumping," Juju reminded him, unnecessarily as it happened. Mal had looked into the matter ahead of time. "Even organics. You would need to file for a permit with the Organic Materials Composting Bureau. You could deal privately with an enriched soil manufacturer, but the market is not good at the moment; they won't even pay you for the material."

"Coals to Newcastle. I'd have to pay by the ton to offload it here on Beylix," Mal returned. "No point in that. Besides, good, well-digested manure like that would be as welcome as good news on some of the newly terraformed worlds, where the soil's poor. Reckon I'll keep it right where it is 'til I land on some world as could use the fertilizer."

. . .

With the cattle delivered, it was time to face the music. Mal didn't have long to wait before Kaylee buttonholed him with her parts list. "Cap'n, we need some parts. We burnt out the Codippily relay and completely fried the Feynman mechanism when we went to hard burn escaping from the Reavers. The extra juice in the system also strained the fusion injectors and the override controller got…well, over-rid."

Mal had brushed up on Serenity's mechanical parts considerably since the incident of the blown compression coil catalyzer that had nearly cost them all their lives, and he hated to have to ask for anything in "Captain Dummy" talk anymore. But Kaylee had just rattled off a string of parts and problems long enough that the only thing he got out of it was the bit about the override controller. So he shot her his most expressive Captain Dummy look and asked, "Meaning?"

"Meaning we can't do another hard burn until the parts are replaced."

Mal nodded. Not optional repairs. Hard burn had saved their 屁股 pìgu before and would do it again, but only if it weren't broke. "Gonna cost us some coin to replace those parts," he said warningly.

Kaylee knew it. He wasn't gonna like her list. "Cap'n, we also gotta replace the bridge console."

A red flush stole up Mal's neck and cheeks, though he tried to make a joke of it. "Yeah, 'cause we never know when some 疯子的 傻瓜 fēngzide shǎguā captain gonna smash up the co-pilot console and then we'll be left with nothin'."

"Weren't your fault, Cap'n—"

"What?" he lashed out. "You sayin' I didn't smash it up? 'Course it's my fault."

Kaylee bit her lip. Hurt her to see the Captain beatin' himself up over something he couldn't do nothin' about. It weren't his fault those awful people come and blow up his world, same time as they were blowin' up his people at Serenity Valley. Weren't his fault he had nightmares and flashbacks. She held back the tears forming in her eyes. "Cap'n?" she said timidly.

"There's more, isn't there?" Mal spoke gently, now. "What else, Kaylee?"

"That atmo feed's been under strain, Cap'n. Was straining even before we went to 泥球 Ní Qiú, then it got a right workout with all them passengers aboard, and now filtering out the hay dust has done a number on it."

"Can you fix it up? Make it last a little longer?" Mal asked, knowing already that Kaylee wouldn't have brought it up if she could fix it with parts they had on hand.

"Cap'n, that's one thing we don't want breakin' down in deep space. It don't run, we run out of oxygen."

"Can't have that happenin'," Mal said with a shudder. "Right, you go to the salvage yards, see what you can find. We don't got the money for nothin' new, but if you spot the parts, try to bargain them down in price. There's salvage yards a-plenty on Beylix, oughtta be able to find what we need."

Kaylee was almost afraid to add more to the list, but it was necessary. "One more thing, Cap'n."

"What is it, 妹妹 mèi mei?" he asked mildly, masking his inward despair at the mounting price tag.

"We still only got two navsats. We never got a replacement for the third unit. An' one of those navsats you picked up on 尘球 Chén Qiú is a little wonky."

Mal groaned inwardly. Even at salvage prices, the parts list was gonna run him into the red.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

牛屎 niú shǐ [cow shit]

屎 shǐ [shit]

屁股 pìgu [asses]

疯子的 傻瓜 fēngzide shǎguā [crazy idiot]

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

妹妹 mèi mei [little sister]

尘球 Chén Qiú [name of a world]

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><p><em>AN: So, where would _you _go to pick up a replacement Codippily relay and a set of fusion injectors? Leave a comment or a review!_


	3. Chapter 3

One Man's Trash, Part 2a

_Mal scopes out the bank._

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><p>Mal detested banking machines. He detested banks as well. He actually did have a credit account, but he much preferred cash transactions. Kinda business he was in, would have preferred cash only, but there were times when credit was the only way. Credit transactions were risky. Credit transactions could be traced. The source of the funds could be tracked, time and place of withdrawal was recorded, and government-issued ID had to be presented to access the funds. It was like advertising to the Feds exactly where he was, exactly when he was there, and exactly what he was doing, and that sat all manner of uneasy on him. Mal always felt he might just as well jump up and down, wave his arms and yell, "Arrest me!" every time he accessed his credit account.<p>

That had been the one downside of the meeting with Juju Kamara. When it came time for payment, she told him, "Captain, Sir Warwick has already transferred credit into your account, for the agreed upon amount. I sent him a signal as soon as I inspected the cattle. I shall ask him to send you a bonus on account of the remarkably healthy condition of the animals." While the bonus was good news, the part about the credit account was not. Mal inwardly cursed Sir Warwick. _Cash_ _payment_, _sir_—he mentally thundered at the magistrate—always_ pay cash for smuggled goods, unless you want the Alliance to track you down_. He tried to keep a lid on his temper in front of the gracious Juju Kamara, but it was difficult. It was yet another item in the list of things Sir Warwick Harrow had done on this job to cause Mal unintentional hardship. At least he thought it was unintentional. But as he walked down the main street of town, he felt like he had a target painted on his back, and he wasn't so sure about the magistrate's intentions.

So it was with great misgivings that Mal strode up to the automatic teller machine in Central City, the dusty Beylix town nearest the best salvage yards, and placed his Ident Card in the slot. The machine purred to life, flashing a retinal scanner on him—gorram retinal, already felt like he was being booked for breaking the law—and demanded an access code. He entered it, leaving his fingerprints all over the machine for some lawman to discover and corroborate evidence of his nefarious presence in Central City, Beylix. He glanced up and down the street. Jayne loitered near the door to a saloon, while in the other direction Zoe appeared to be window shopping. No obvious threats and no Feds.

The machine blinked and whirred, and then shot him an unwelcome message: "No funds available for withdrawal." 该死 Gāisǐ. Now he'd have to go into the bank.

He flicked another set of glances up and down the street to signal Zoe and Jayne, then stepped into the bank. He automatically noticed the security camera that tracked him as he divested himself of his sidearm, then the smaller gun he wore under his coat on the left-hand side, and then the concealed pocket pistol that he had carried on the job ever since Saffron had disarmed him and left him in the desert. He also removed his knife and placed all the objects in the checkbox, removing the claim chit and pocketing it. Then he entered the bank through the security scanner gate.

As he entered the lobby, he automatically registered the presence of two security guards (one monitoring the entrance security gate, looked at him with a bored expression when he entered, went back to his surreptitiously concealed reading material; the other, equally bored, monitoring a bank of security vid screens, from a position left of center) and scanned the room for security cameras (four of them, two that doubled as vid screens behind the tellers' counter, two in each corner behind him as he entered, which left four more based on the guard's vid bank—one clearly at the auto-teller outside, one in the vestibule, two more at locations not obvious from the lobby). 该死 Gāisǐ! What was wrong with him, that he couldn't even walk into a bank to claim money he had legitimately earned without scoping out the place for a potential heist? Well, okay, maybe not _completely_ legitimate—it was payment for a smuggled cargo, after all—but he _had _done the work. The thought flickered through his head of what his ma would think of her son walking into a bank and coolly assessing what it would take to rob the place. He was one twisted sumbitch.

"May I help you sir?" A voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, I uh, tried to make a withdrawal from my account with the auto-teller out there, and it didn't work. Said there weren't funds available or some such, but there should be, 'cause I expected a credit transfer should have gone through by now."

He found himself seated across the desk from a junior manager, who asked for his account numbers and his Ident Card again, and worked the cortex screen on his behalf. "Well, Mr Reynolds," she said, "there is a flag on your account."

This was not good. Were the Feds watching his movements? Was this fall-out from his recent arrest on Persephone? Was this fall-out from Miranda? Or was it some other part of his past, finally catching up with him? "A flag?" he asked innocently. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the funds in your account cannot be withdrawn."

"I gathered as much from that machine," he said with a friendly smile, concealing his impatience. He didn't need a person to repeat what the gorram machine had already told him. "Why not? The funds are there, aren't they?"

"Yes, the funds are there. We have a transfer credited as of two p.m. yesterday." Mal nodded. The manager confirmed the amount; at least Harrow had been as good as his word about the payment. "As for why, there are all kinds of reasons. How much did you attempt to withdraw?"

When Mal mentioned the amount, she said, "The auto-teller is programmed to deny any withdrawal over three hundred credits."

"I'll be needing a good deal more than that," Mal responded. "This is a business account, and I got a ship that needs supplies and repairs."

"I'll try again," she said, and Mal waited while she tapped away at the keyboard. "I'm sorry, sir," she said at last. "The withdrawal has been denied again. The account is flagged."

Mal exhaled. "Any idea why it's flagged?" That crawly feeling was prickling his neck again, though he didn't think this woman had anything to do with it; she was just the bearer of bad news.

"Could be—" she began. "Sir, there is no fixed address listed with your account. That could be the reason."

"I live and work aboard my ship," he answered. "The ship is my permanent address." 哎呀 Āiyā. This was a problem he had encountered before. System didn't take kindly to people whose permanent address was a spaceship with no regular route.

"The system doesn't accommodate spaceships as addresses very well. Let me try to update it." Mal gave her Serenity's name and registration number, the crawly feeling increasing all the while. "Do you have any regular ports of call?" she asked.

Mal made it a point _not _to have regular ports of call, but he did in fact have three places that he used as mailing addresses when necessary, for example when he ordered ship parts that had to be delivered somewhere. One was a post office on Persephone, and the other two were postal stations on orbiting skyplexes in two different systems—one of them the place where he'd received the ill-fated crate containing Tracey's body. He gave her that address.

"I'm sorry, Mr Reynolds, it won't accept a 'general delivery' address. Do you keep a P.O. box somewhere?"

He definitely did not. A P.O. box was something registered, someplace that could be monitored, staked out. He relied on cultivating good personal relations with the postal clerks, who would remember him and hold packages sent to him general delivery until he could call for them. Funny, bills and overdraft notices seemed to reach him through general delivery readily enough. He briefly considered giving the address of Inara's Companion Training House, care of Inara Serra—knew that the respectability of the Companion Guild would immediately resolve the problem, even if he didn't live there any more than he lived on the skyplex near Silverhold—but it just felt wrong to him to involve Inara in this mess, especially without her permission.

He shook his head. "Is there any other reason for the flag?" he asked, looking at the manager with what he hoped was an open, honest expression.

_Oh, those deep blue eyes_, she thought. She knew he must be getting frustrated, but it didn't make this 帅 shuài ship captain any less 帅 shuài. And he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. She redoubled her efforts. "Sometimes an account is flagged because it has fallen below the minimum balance."

He gave a small chuckle. "I'd say that's likely. Last few jobs have been hand-to-mouth. This is the first one in a while that's paid well. That's why I'm all the more in need of the funds."

She wanted to help. She knew he would be bored, waiting for her to tap away at the screen, so she broke with company policy and angled the screen so that he could see it as she worked. The move also put her in closer proximity to her 帅 shuài customer. Maybe she could accidentally brush his knee. That's how Mal happened to see the code that flashed on the screen as she uncovered the flag again. He took careful mental note of the number. Maybe he could find a way to look up the meaning of it.

She looked up at the 帅 shuài captain sitting next to her. "I'm so sorry," she said. "That flag is court-ordered. I can't tell you why it's there, but it's not something I can override." _哎呀__Āiyā_, she thought_. Probably a deadbeat, failed to pay child support or something._ _Too bad_, she thought, as she watched his handsome, athletic form retreat from the bank. _There are other fish in the sea_.

. . .

"No coin?" Zoe asked.

"None," Mal confirmed.

"None at all?" Zoe asked again.

Mal looked sharply at Zoe. She didn't need to be told twice. Something was on her mind. "What is it?" he asked.

"Need some new clothes, sir."

"New clothes?" Mal echoed, astonished. "Never reckoned you for a fashion queen, Zoe. Your browncoat not good enough for you anymore?"

"It's not that, sir. Nothing fits." He was looking stupidly at her, so she spelled it out. "On account of the baby."

"You don't hardly look—" he began.

"Don't matter how it looks," she snapped, cutting him off. "It's how it is. My pants don't fit. My shirts don't fit. I can't borrow anything off any of the other women on this boat; they're all smaller than I am anyway. Unless you want to see me in Wash's tropical shirts and flight jumpsuit, I need to buy clothes."

Mal nodded his understanding. "I'm truly sorry, Zoe. There's plenty in the credit account, but it's all locked up. Can't get so much as a single platinum coin outta that 无用 wúyòng bank."

"Any idea why?"

They had been walking up toward the bridge as they talked, and he answered as they entered. "Some one's put a flag on the account. Court order. I got the ID code on it. River," he said, turning to the pilot, "heard you've shown some skills in the hacking department. Think you can find out who ordered the lock-down on my credit account?" He handed River a slip on which he'd written the code.

"There is nothing left to see. He can find out," River answered cryptically.

Mal stared a moment, trying to make sense of what she said. Gorrammit, wasn't in the mood for conundrums. "Alright, I'll take that to mean you'll give it a shot. Right, Zoe, we gotta go meet Monty's contact in town, see if we can get us a job."

"Captain," River tugged on his sleeve. Mal looked back at her. "One man's trash is another man's treasure," she pronounced with a serious look.

Mal pondered her words, irrelevant as they seemed. "I've heard that said, darlin'." He didn't see any connection with anything they'd been talking about.

"Think about it, Captain," River said earnestly.

"Oh, I'm thinkin'," Mal replied. Specifically, he was thinking, _What the __地狱__dìyù?_

"Not like that," River snapped. "Don't make faces. One man's trash—"

"You just work on that ID code, sweetheart. I'll mull it over in the back of my mind." And collecting Zoe with his look, they walked off the bridge, off the ship, and into town.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

该死 Gāisǐ [Damn]

该死 Gāisǐ [Damn it]

哎呀 Āiyā [Damn]

帅 shuài [cute]

_哎呀 __Āiyā [Dang]_

无用 wúyòng [useless]

_地狱 __dìyù [hell]_

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, what's up with that bank, anyhow? Leave me a review or comment! :-)_


	4. Chapter 4

One Man's Trash, Part 2b

_Jayne meets an old friend._

* * *

><p>"Thank you, 英俊的男人 yīngjùn de nánrén," Kaylee said with a flirtatious smile, as she left the fourth salvage yard. Captain hadn't given her a budget, but she knew she had to keep it as low as possible. Cap'n tried to hide it, but she'd seen the despair in his eyes as she mentioned the atmo feed and the navsat. She wasn't privy to the amount the job had paid them, but she knew down to a platinum how much the parts were like to cost, and she knew pretty well what it cost to fuel the ship. She visited four salvage yards in succession, and knew which ones had which parts. She wasn't shy about using her feminine charms—even though female mechanics weren't a real rarity, most junkyard employees were male, and Kaylee wasn't about to pass up the opportunity of flirting her way to a bargain. She was glad Simon had left her at the salvage yard on her own, 'cause she wouldn't have dared flirt with the salvage boys this way if Simon were with her, and the prices woulda been a lot higher. It weren't nothin', just a little batting the eyelids and smilin', and it worked, too, but she still felt a mite guilty playin' that card when her heart belonged to Simon.<p>

天啊 Tiān ā, she was tired. Usually, she was like a girl in a candy shop when she got to a salvage yard. She loved lookin' at all the fine things, and imaginin' what use she'd put them to when she got them aboard her girl Serenity. Maybe it was all that bargaining, and the not bein' able to buy anything yet, but this time she was just plum tuckered out. She sat down in the shade on the main street of town, and waited for Simon and Inara to finish their shopping and join her.

. . .

Simon was dismayed by the prices. He knew the Captain would be receiving payment for the cattle shipment soon, but as was all too common lately, there seemed to be a shortage of ready money. Simon had a little pocket money saved up, and he determined to use it now, and replenish when the Captain's funds came in. He purchased minimal amounts of topical anesthetic, weaves and bandages, as there was a frequent demand for these on Serenity, given the nature of their business. He also purchased a small stock of sterile saline, Ringer's solution, and D5W—he did not dare run out of these items, you never knew when someone was going to get shot and need the fluids, and sad to say, gunshot wounds were among the most common injuries on Serenity. He had only a small amount of money left and was trying to decide between re-stocking the men's contraceptives (which had been in higher demand lately) or buying a broad-spectrum antibiotic when he noticed something important.

"This antibiotic is nearly expired," Simon pointed out to the pharmacist.

The pharmacist bustled over to the shelf where Simon stood, took a good look at the box, and swore a blue streak. Just what Simon was hoping to hear. Well, not _hoping _hoping (as the Shepherd would say)—but it played into his new plan.

"You won't be able to sell this lot after tomorrow," Simon pointed out in an annoyingly helpful voice. "It's illegal to sell medications past their expiration date."

"We got a whole crate of that in the storeroom," the pharmacist complained with another round of curses. "All from the same lot. Gorram pharmaceutical company must have sent us their oldest stock. The shipment it came in on was delayed, too. Only had it on the shelf for a week, and now we're gonna have to pitch the whole lot of it." She rambled off into another round of sincere, if uncreative, cussing.

"I have a proposal to make," Simon said.

. . .

Inara inspected the garment carefully. The fabric was of good quality. The colors were good. She held it up in front of her, and it was way too long. She took a moment to consider carefully if it was way too long enough, considering how much taller than she the intended recipient was. While she considered that question, she took in the style. Not her kind of thing, but perfect in its way. She hoped it would be acceptable to its recipient. It was so hard to shop for someone whose clothing choices were made deliberately, with such exacting specifications, yet someone who never spoke of fashion preferences, and kept them closed like a book. She also worried about the prospect of giving a gift to one who was unaccustomed to receiving—and had never received a gift from her.

On the other hand, it was absurdly easy to shop for someone whose taste in clothing had never been expressed, because the person in question was not yet born. One baby romper was just not enough. She selected another charming but practical outfit from the rack. And another. Luckily she had enough credits to afford them all.

. . .

The Captain had insisted that no one go into town on their own. He and Zoe then took off for town together on some business or other. Shortly after, Kaylee, Simon, and Inara walked into town in a group, headed for the salvage yards apparently, although what business a doctor and a Companion had at a salvage yard, Ip couldn't imagine. He'd asked River if she'd like to go into town with him, and she lit up like the lanterns for the 灯篭流し Tōrō Nagashi at the end of 盆 Bon, which was a bit disconcerting in and of itself. But then she declared that she couldn't. The Captain had given her an assignment, and she would stay with the ship. She told Ip the nature of the assignment, and when he understood she'd be using the ship's cortex link, probably for hours, he knew he'd have to go into town. Which left Jayne. Ip wouldn't have chosen Jayne for his companion. The man would no doubt protect him if need be—he was certainly well-armed—but Ip didn't anticipate being mugged in broad daylight in the middle of the main street of Central City, Beylix, and he couldn't imagine any other problem. Other than: where on this dusty planet would he find a public access cortex link? He didn't think Jayne knew or cared, and he wished he could shake the man off and spend the afternoon without the pleasure of Jayne's company.

Jayne knew there'd be trouble. Cap'n hadn't managed to extract any coin from that 青蛙 乱伦的 qīngwā luànlúnde bank, even though he'd set in that place for the best part of an hour. Gorram waste of time. Except Jayne had scouted out two bars—the Friendly Inn and the Freight and Salvage—and a whorehouse from where he'd been loitering on guard duty, so he knew where to go soon as he had the coin. But that was the rub, weren't it? No coin. No coin, no drinkin'. No coin, no trim. What was the use of a few days' run planetside, when your pockets were empty? Cap'n better come up with something that paid, and fast, or the whole time on Beylix would be wasted. Just like Persephone.

Captain was gettin' soft. That slave break-out on 泥球 Ní Qiú was good fun, but gorrammit, it hadn't paid even a single platinum. Jayne had loved the recon, the scouting out escape routes, the look-out, the gorram break-out itself. But he figured the Captain had at least worked out some kinda re-ward from them Abolitionist people on Persephone to pay for the lark. It pissed Jayne right off, to get to Persephone and 'stead of gettin' a re-ward, he got jail time. Even if it weren't the worst jail he'd ever been in, an' even though he got out with nothin' added to his rap sheet, Cap'n had bungled it. Turned out the Cap'n had done it all for love, not money. Now weren't that all manner of stupid? Always thought the Cap'n had more smarts than that. Not that it weren't the right thing to do, breakin' people out of slavery an' all, just that he couldn't afford to go around bein' a hero for no pay.

They spent a few more days on Persephone after gettin' outta jail, and there was plenty of bars and whorehouses right within spittin' distance of the docks, and still he got no play. Cap'n had him humpin' halfway across town and back on foot, just to visit some no-account Browncoat friend of his who wouldn't know a payin' job iff'n it came up and bit him on the 屁股 pìgu. Finally Cap'n coughed up some money an' gave Jayne his pay, but then he worked him like a slave installing all that 狗屎 gǒushǐ in the cargo bay for the gorram cows. Jayne only got the one night out on the town, and they was parked on Persephone for near ten days. When he figured out he wasn't gonna get but the one night, he sent most of his pay to his mother for little Mattie, and blew out all the rest of his money on a good time in the Dockside District. Ain't nothin' to spend the money on in space anyhow, and he figured he'd get another payday soon as they got to Beylix. Figured wrong, as it happened.

Yep, Beylix was gonna be trouble. Like right now, when he had to baby-sit Doc 'Noy-man instead of gettin' himself a good drink at the Friendly Inn. Ah well. Not nobody said he couldn't go window shoppin' while he watched the Doc's back. Now that there was a nice piece a' 女人的屁股 nǚrén de pìgu walkin' down the sidewalk towards them. Good healthy-lookin' female, nice big titties. Pleasant face. Looked kinda familiar.

"Jayne Cobb! It's you!" the woman hollered. She covered the last dozen yards at a run and threw herself into Jayne's arms, covering his face with kisses.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

英俊的男人 yīngjùn de nánrén [handsome man]

天啊 Tiān ā [God]

灯篭流し Tōrō Nagashi [lantern floating ceremony (Japanese)]

盆 Bon [A Buddhist observance honoring the spirits of the ancestors (Japanese)]

青蛙 乱伦的 qīngwā luànlúnde [frog fornicating]

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

屁股 pìgu [ass]

狗屎 gǒushǐ [crap]

女人的屁股 nǚrén de pìgu [ass (woman's)]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Anyone care to speculate about who Jayne's friend is? (Feedback! Comments! Reviews!)_


	5. Chapter 5

One Man's Trash, Part 3a

_Zoe and Mal encounter some Purplebellies in a bar._

* * *

><p>Zoe and Mal sat at a table in the dimly lit Freight and Salvage bar. It was still broad daylight outside, but the place was quiet and dingy inside, busy enough but not too busy, a good place for a meet. Mal sat nursing the same drink he'd ordered when they first arrived, making it last, because they were on the job and they certainly didn't have the coin to waste. Zoe sipped her seltzer water with lemon and scanned the bar for the hundredth time. Monty's friend was supposed to show up an hour ago, and she didn't have high hopes anymore.<p>

"Reckon he's not comin', sir," Zoe said, with just a hint of question in her voice.

Mal looked morosely down into his glass and swirled the contents. "Reckon he's not. Monty seemed confident of his man. Monty's never let me down."

"I'm sure Monty's good, sir," Zoe replied. "But didn't he get pinched last time he was on Beylix?"

"You're right, Zoe," Mal recollected.

"Could be his contact ain't no good no more."

"Reckon you're right," Mal said with a sigh. "Still, wouldn't be any other place today." He looked at Zoe and raised his glass.

Zoe knew he hadn't forgotten, that the meet had been set up here on purpose. There were two days of the year that Mal inevitably sought out a bar. One was Unification Day, when he went looking for trouble, deliberately picking the most Alliance-friendly bar he could get to, spoiling for a fight. The other was Serenity Day, not officially celebrated in the Core. It was the day they'd been ordered to lay down arms at the Battle of Serenity Valley. The day their hopes had been defeated. The day their sufferings had _not_ ended, but entered a new, more hopeless phase. The day that Mal had to start watching the men and women around him die, senselessly, uselessly, without being able to do a gorram thing about it, not even fight back. Not an official holiday, it passed unremarked by most of the 'Verse. But for veterans of the battle, the day was a watershed, indelibly marking the separation between Before and After.

"To Serenity. To them as never left." They clinked glasses. Mal tossed back the remainder of his drink.

"To them as never left," Zoe echoed, drinking the rest of hers.

They stood up, scraping back their chairs, and headed for the door. As they walked, they passed a table where two men and one woman sat with a number of bottles. The three were wearing clothing in the purplish grey colors of the Alliance. One of the men called out as they approached, "Hey! Browncoat!"

Zoe saw Mal stiffen slightly, as she did herself behind him, but he did not pause in his stride.

"Browncoat!" the man repeated. "You know I'm talking to you!" He made eye contact with Mal. "Both of you," he added, looking Zoe in the eye, as well.

Mal stopped, his hands free and ready for action. Zoe readied herself to back his move. "You want to talk to me…" he said slowly, "Purplebelly."

There was a scraping of chairs as people nearby cleared out, sensing a fight about to happen.

"Yeah, I do," the man replied. "You know what day today is?"

"Surely I do," Mal replied, and Zoe sensed the rising tide of anger in him.

"Sir…" she began, warningly, but the Alliance man's attention was caught by her word.

"Oh, surely not—you weren't an officer." It was more of an evaluation than a question. Then he added, "A sergeant, weren't you?"

"We're all just plain folks, now," Mal answered. "Where're you leading this? Do you mind sayin'? 'Cause I got better things to do than stand about yammerin' with a —"

"—Purplebelly," the man filled in Mal's word. "We're not just plain folks. We're veterans. We're _all_ veterans. Of a battle _they've_ all but forgotten." He jerked his head, taking in the other people in the bar. "A battle we won't ever forget. Come, sit down. Join us for a drink."

This was an unexpected development, but Mal did not yet let down his guard. "What're you drinking to?" he asked carefully.

"To those that never left Serenity Valley—both sides."

Mal sat, and so did Zoe. "That I can do," Mal said, as glasses were filled and handed round. "To them as never left Serenity."

They all drank the toast and sat silent for a minute. "Sergeant Haxton," the man introduced himself, "Used to be Sergeant, anyway. This is Nguyen—" he indicated the woman sitting next to him "—and Sullivan," indicating the man. "From my platoon."

"Corporal Alleyne," Zoe introduced herself by the name she had borne during her soldiering days. She'd changed her name to Wash's when she married, on purpose to make a clean break, Mal knew. Zoe introduced Mal as well. "Sergeant Reynolds."

"Had you pegged for a sergeant," Nguyen said to Mal. "I could tell by how she backed you. Same as how I back Sergeant Haxton here."

More drinks were poured, and they found that their regiments had been opposite each other in the line. They probably had shot at each other during the battle. Probably killed each other's friends. 地狱 Dìyù, weren't no probably about it. They were sittin' there drinkin' with them they'd tried to kill and as tried to kill them. Weren't nothin' personal about it, though. Both sides, doing their duty. Risking their lives as they expected to do. Waiting for the higher-ups to step up and do _their_ duty. Waiting after the cease-fire, waiting, and waiting, while men and women both sides died of their wounds, waiting for the medships that arrived too late.

"We didn't have much ourselves, just basic rations," Sullivan said. "Our medical facilities got shelled all to 拉屎 lāshǐ and re-supply hadn't landed—got delayed in space transit, they said."

Nguyen took up the tale. "We could hear the wounded and dying moaning—your wounded, I mean. Ours got taken to the med tents, such as they were. Especially at night, when the sound carried." She gave a shudder at the memory, which was echoed by everyone at the table.

"Our orders were not to give any aid to any wounded Browncoats we found," Haxton said, looking Mal in the eye. "Made me feel less than human, not to give a sip of water to a dying man." He re-filled Mal's glass, a vain attempt to make up for it, too little, too late, as he well knew. "The whole war we'd been taught that the enemy was wrong, and being wrong made 'em less human. _We _were good people, comrades, fighting the good fight, and the Browncoats were—less. Always called 'em 'The Enemy', or—you know, less flattering things." They all snorted. Mal and Zoe exchanged a look, recollecting some of the more colorful names they had called the Alliance. "The Enemy. Not people. But you can't hear, night after night, the moans of the dying, and not figure it out. _People _died, _people _suffered, both sides. And for what?"

"Peace and prosperity under the benevolent rule of the Alliance," said Mal flippantly. "All go home and live a shiny life." Disgusted snorts from all around the table followed Mal's pronouncement.

"Never could go home," Haxton said. "Planet where I'm from was the scene of some heavy fighting, and the mines still haven't been cleared from the place I used to call home. Now that planet's not of strategic interest, government's in no hurry to see the job done. Hands the contract over to some 吃垃圾 chī lājī Blue Sun subdivision, they collect the money and sit around."

"Don't that just figure," Mal commented. "Easy to make a mess of a planet, nobody takes responsibility for cleaning it up." He paused for a drink, then added, "Never could go home, neither. 'M from Shadow."

Any other group, that piece of info woulda dropped like a stone and stopped conversation dead. This group, they understood. They just nodded, then Sullivan said, "Moon I come from wasn't hardly touched by the war—but it didn't matter." Sullivan twisted his glass in his fingers. "No jobs to be found. Being a veteran wasn't worth a damn to employers. Didn't give any advantage—in fact, the ones who hadn't fought made out better—were sitting pretty in the jobs we left when we were called up to fight. I haven't had a job since the war that had anything to do with what I was trained for before. Used to make high-end specialty milled steel products." He gave a snort. "Now I sort garbage on Beylix."

"Only people who made out well from the war were the profiteers," Nguyen stated indignantly, then rattled off the names like it was her personal hit-list. "Vista Sun, New Worlds, Chow Interplanetary, Wing Beaumont, Bartihalon, Sun Microdot, Allmine, Huli Network. Made munitions, rations, military vehicles—"

"All divisions of Blue Sun," Zoe inserted, sipping her seltzer water.

"_All?_" Mal asked, astonished.

"Been talking to Neumann, sir."

Haxton looked at Zoe and nodded. "Only jobs to be had in the Border planets since the war, are working in reconstruction of the places laid waste by the war. Workin' for companies like Ring M, Durai, Doembrown and Sinkall—again, they're all divisions of Blue Sun."

"That's not true, Haxton," Sullivan cut in. "You can get a job running supplies to the dependent Rim worlds."

"But who supplies the Rim worlds?" Haxton countered. "Blue Sun again."

Mal was beginning to see a pattern. "Sometimes you can get a job running supplies," he inserted. The others looked at him. "I've been more fortunate than most," he said, and Zoe looked at him with surprise. "Got my own ship. Still, it's hard to find work."

"Hauling cargo?" Haxton asked.

Mal nodded.

"Decent living?" Sullivan inquired.

"Enough to put food on the table—mostly. Keep the ship from fallin' apart—mostly." Mal took another drink. "Right now, not so much. Can't find a job here on Beylix."

The others murmured their agreement. Wasn't easy finding a job, not anywhere.

"Last run was tough," Mal admitted. "Got chased by Reavers."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

地狱 Dìyù [Hell]

拉屎 lāshǐ [shit]

吃垃圾 chī lājī [garbage-eating]

* * *

><p><em>AN: I want to acknowledge the work of Guildsister here. Guildsister's story "Blue Sun Job" contains a scene in which Mal and Zoe sit down to drinks with some Alliance soldiers. I borrowed that set up and took it in a different direction._

_Were you expecting a fistfight? Leave me a review and let me know!_


	6. Chapter 6

One Man's Trash, Part 3b

_Ip makes a wave, Jayne catches up with an old friend, and Mal and Zoe and the Purplebellies are still at it._

* * *

><p>"…I got a terrific data set," Ip continued, his excitement apparent to the man on the cortex screen. "I had all kinds of equipment set up on the hull of the boat, and the Captain plotted a course that took us within five thousand miles of Shadow's surface. The view was stunning."<p>

"So have you solved the mystery of the terraforming accident on Shadow then?" the man asked, with an amused smile at the young man's gushing enthusiasm.

"No, certainly not yet," Ip responded, sobering a little. "It's a very complicated case. The accident that happened there should not have happened at all. While it's theoretically possible for a single event like a bomb to trigger a cascade that led to catastrophic failure of terraforming, the likelihood of that event is just…"

"Improbable?" suggested Brother Chan 'eil Càil an so a' Faicadh.

"Beyond improbable. It's so unlikely that it's not even worth considering. I'm sure it was not a factor that the original terraforming engineers of Shadow even worked into their calculations. Especially since Shadow took so readily to terraforming in the first place. And yet this extremely improbable event seems to have happened on Shadow." Ip paused, and looked saddened.

"What is it?" his friend asked with concern.

"It's just—well, it was harder than I ever imagined it would be, to see how the return to Shadow affected the Captain."

"What do you mean?" the man asked, with every appearance of surprise.

"Did you know the Captain is a native of Shadow?"

The Operative knew it perfectly well, but he shook his head.

"Yes, he is, and seeing his destroyed home world up close triggered some traumatic flashbacks. It made me terribly sad to see it." Ip paused, gathering his thoughts. "He was very brave, plotting that course and sticking to it, knowing how close it would bring him to the world he lost." He looked his friend directly in the eye and said somberly, "The Captain lost everything he ever had when Shadow was destroyed."

The Operative nodded sympathetically. Ip Neumann had no idea just how much the Captain had lost. The moment of silence hung between them.

Ip shook off the oppressive mood. "I should tell you, though—the excitement of gathering data on Shadow was completely eclipsed by what happened next."

"Why? What happened?" Despite all his training, the Operative was unable to maintain a calm demeanor.

"As we approached perigee, we came upon a fleet of transport vessels. Hundreds of them. Then we were chased by a stealth vessel. I'm thinking maybe a guard ship to chase away anybody who got too interested in the transports."

Brother Chan 'eil Càil looked sharply at Ip. Ip had not seen such a look on his friend's face before. "Hundreds of transports? What were they doing there?"

"I really don't know," Ip responded. "But I suspect something illegal. They were within the embargo zone."

"Landing? Taking off?"

"I suppose they were. We really didn't get to look for very long, because that's when we got chased by Reavers."

"Good gods!" _Stealth trackers, fleets of vessels, Reavers—Malcolm Reynolds seemed to attract this kind of attention like a magnet_, the Operative thought, forgetting for a moment his own involvement in the Captain's last encounter with Reavers and a large fleet.

"But that's not the biggest surprise." Ip actually relished the telling. "All those spectrographs and scanners I had on the hull of Serenity yielded some interesting information about the transport fleet."

The Operative was all ears.

"Those transports were carrying linthicum ore. There's a huge illegal extraction operation going on, on Shadow."

The man on the screen considered carefully for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you have hard evidence of that?"

Ip nodded. "Yes, I do. As far as remote-sensing data can be considered hard evidence."

"Have you considered the implications of this evidence?" Brother Chan 'eil Càil asked carefully.

Ip considered a moment. "I think it's likely that a crime is being committed on Shadow."

His friend nodded. "I agree. What steps have you taken to safeguard this evidence?"

Ip hadn't taken any. "Does it need safeguarding?"

"At the very least, you should make a back-up copy of that data. Store it at a secure, off-ship location." He paused, as if in thought, then added, "You may have uncovered something here that's key to building a case against the culprits."

Ip hadn't considered that there might be a criminal case brought against the illegal miners. "Oh. You're right." He considered a moment. "Where are you now? Still on 尘球 Chén Qiú?"

"Not any longer," Brother Chan 'eil Càil replied. "You're waving me from Beylix? I'm four sectors away."

"Would you keep a copy of the data for me?"

"I could do that," he answered neutrally. He was careful not to betray any special interest in the subject to Ip Neumann. Then he added, "What would you want me to do with it? I could contact law enforcement—"

"No," Ip answered quickly. "Just store it. Keep it safe. In case of accidents." After a little reflection, Ip added, "I think there's more to this story than we've uncovered so far. I agree that this is a significant piece of evidence, but there's more to it than meets the eye."

"I believe you're right," the Operative answered with conviction. He knew he would have much to do as soon as the data set was in his hands.

Ip nodded. There was something else on his mind. He hesitated. He really shouldn't divulge the Captain's private business to an outside party, especially since River had explained the problem to him in confidence. But it seemed to him that his friend might be able to help—he seemed to have connections. After all, he'd been surprisingly forthcoming in working political contacts on Persephone on the Captain's behalf. Ip made his decision. "Have you ever heard of a credit account being flagged?"

. . .

Jayne sat in the booth in a cozy corner of the Friendly Inn with his new friend snuggled up to his side. Or not-so-new. Turned out they was already acquainted. Well-acquainted in fact, up to and including biblically. And she was willing to treat him. Beylix was a shiny, wonderful world.

He had been astonished when this well-endowed piece of womanhood had thrown herself at him right there on the street, soon as he started window-shopping. But she'd been anything but astonished.

"Jayne Cobb! It's really you!" she repeated breathlessly, between kisses. "I knew it! It's karma." She stepped back just a bit to have a good look at him. "And just as handsome as I remember." She then noticed a tall, thin stranger stopping nearby and regarding Jayne with an odd look. "This 'un on your crew now, Jayne?"

"Well, he's, uh—" Jayne began.

"Dr Ip Neumann," Ip introduced himself. "Jayne has kindly agreed to accompany me into town. And you are—?"

"Janice," she replied, saving Jayne a world of trouble. "Me and Jayne know each other from way back, on Higgins Moon. Betcha hardly knew me, eh Jayne?" she asked, elbowing him in the ribs, as Jayne squirmed uncomfortably at the truth. "I clean up good, don't I?" she beamed at Jayne, not in the least noticing his discomfiture. "Last time we saw each other," she told Ip conspiratorially, "I was covered with mud. Not that the Hero of Canton minded a bit of mud-wrestling." She made it sound so salacious.

Jayne was puttin' two and two together and comin' up with a home run. Janice. Huh. She was that Mudder woman that'd given him a good time—a gorram _good_ time—that night in Canton. "Whatcha doin' on Beylix, Janice?" he asked.

"Fixin' to have me a good time with the Hero of Canton," she answered. "C'mon, handsome. Let me buy you a drink." And she hauled an unprotesting Jayne off to the Friendly Inn, leaving Ip Neumann standing on the sidewalk.

. . .

They killed the bottle and were well into the next, while Zoe single-handedly killed the seltzer. Nguyen was getting loquacious. "If I'd met Browncoats like you back in the day, I don't think I could have fired a shot. But still, I can't reconcile that with the atrocities you all—I don't mean _you two_—the Browncoats—"

Mal interrupted. "What atrocities you talkin' about?"

"地狱 Dìyù," she replied. "I don't know how to say it. Don't be mad—I'm not blaming _you_ in particular—but only someone _inhuman_ could have done what was done to our troops at Rovaniemi."

"_What _was done to them?" Zoe asked, considerably ruffled.

"I don't even want to say. It's sick. Look, it probably wasn't your regulars. You all just seem like normal people to me, what I would expect in any infantry unit. But what was done at Rovaniemi, that was the work of some sick mind."

"What do you mean?" Mal asked.

Nguyen looked for help from her comrades. "Well, they weren't just killed. The women were raped—"

"—and the men—" Sullivan inserted.

"—and then they were tortured."

"Flayed alive."

"Most of the bodies had parts missing," Haxton added, in a disgusted voice.

"牲畜污秽淫乱! Shēngchù wūhuì yínluàn!" Mal exclaimed. "You saw this?"

"We saw the bodies, afterwards," Haxton replied. "But we heard of other incidents like that, too. Hard not to howl for the Browncoats' blood, knowing they had units trained to do that kind of thing to human beings. Please, no offense to you. Not your fault Independent Command had some sick ideas."

"We heard of the same kind of atrocities," Zoe stated coldly. "But we were told it was the Alliance that done it. Against us."

"What?" "没做 Méi zuò!" "Never!" the three exclaimed.

"It weren't the Alliance," Mal asserted. "I never believed them stories, Zoe. That was just the propaganda machine, using them sad incidents to stir up the fight in people. Those attacks were all done by Reavers."

. . .

Zoe and Mal made their way back to Serenity. Mal was perfectly ambulatory, but his navigation skills were a little tweaked. Zoe steered them steadily homeward.

"'M beginnin' ta think we spent th' war fightin' th' wrong people," Mal observed.

"You mean we shouldn't a' fought against the 42nd?" Zoe asked, referring to Haxton's regiment.

"Mean Blue Sun," he replied. "Everythin' points ta Blue Sun. They're everywhere. Come outta the Black, bite ya on th' 屁股 pìgu."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

尘球 Chén Qiú [name of a world]

地狱 Dìyù [Hell]

牲畜污秽淫乱 Shēngchù wūhuì yínluàn [Filthy fornicators of livestock]

没做 Méi zuò [No way]

屁股 pìgu [ass]

* * *

><p><em>So...did I manage to surprise you? Or did you see that coming? Write a review or leave a comment, and let me know.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

One Man's Trash, part 4a

_All-crew conference_

* * *

><p>Working together, Zoe and Inara managed to get Mal down the ladder into his bunk in one piece, despite his protestations that he didn't need no help, delivered in a more pronounced Shadow accent than usual. He was snoring before Inara even left the room. Zoe headed off Dr Ip, who was prowling the halls of Serenity with a <em>Where's-the-Captain? <em>look.

It was a subdued group that sat down to a late dinner that night. Kaylee looked all done in, and was nodding into her plate. Girl had done a hard day's work, scouring every salvage yard within range for parts, yet unable to buy because the Captain's funds were still hung up. Simon was concerned for Kaylee and didn't have much to say otherwise, other than to report to Zoe that his quest for medicines to re-stock Serenity's infirmary was only partially successful, and again, that he was out of funds. Inara was thoughtful. Zoe herself was uncomfortable, the tight waistband of her pants digging into her abdomen, no matter how upright her posture. She would have unbuttoned them if she could. Jayne hadn't returned to the ship, and Ip would only say that he'd run into an old friend in town, and the two had headed off to have a drink together. River was muttering numbers and codes to herself, and headed back to the bridge immediately after finishing her meal. Ip alone was full of contained excitement, but he only wanted to speak of it to the Captain. Mal, of course, was sleeping it off.

. . .

Jayne rolled aboard Serenity well into the morning. "Her love for me now ain't hard to explain, the Hero of Canton, the man they call—me!" he sang lustily. Luckily for Jayne, the hangover meds Simon had slipped Mal at breakfast time had already kicked in, and Mal was feeling reasonably spry after his second cup of coffee. Simon and Kaylee relaxed, seeing as the Captain didn't look like his head was about to explode.

"Had a good night's sleep I take it?" the Captain commented wryly.

"Damn straight I did!" Jayne replied, his loud voice carrying right up to the cockpit.

Not just Mal, but Zoe and Simon cringed, while Kaylee said, "How about usin' an indoor voice, Jayne?"

"Who's the lucky one?" Mal was in the mood to tease Jayne.

"Janice. Remember Janice?" Jayne was remembering Janice in all carnal detail, her healthy, robust form, wrapped around—

"Can't say as I do, Jayne."

"From Higgins Moon. Her indentures was up, so she moved to Beylix. Works at Ray's Hauling. Step up from them mud pits."

"Smells better, I reckon."

"Oooh, yeah, smells _much_ better—" Jayne began, with a leer.

"I do _not_ need to hear this," Mal interjected, regretting that he'd started this hare. Mal really had only the vaguest recollection of the woman Jayne was talking about. Jayne had connected with a Mudder woman, thought he was a hero like all the other Mudders in Jaynestown—oh right, place was actually called Canton. If she still thought he was a hero, reckon Jayne'd had a good time reconnecting.

Jayne went and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Mal caught Zoe's eye, and began the proceedings. It was unusual to have a crew conference in the morning, especially when they were parked on a planet, but some things needed explaining.

"As you all know, we're short of funds. Last job paid us well, but the account's flagged and I can't get any coin." Dr Ip made as if to interrupt, but Mal held up his hand. "River's still workin' on finding out why the account's all locked up. Meanwhile, anybody has got any ready money they're willing to contribute to the ship, I'll keep an account of it and pay you back when the funds come available."

Kaylee leaned forward, ready to speak, but Mal wasn't finished. "We're goin' to dinner—the _midday_ meal, her time-zone—at Juju Kamara's." Jayne opened his mouth, but Mal ignored him. "All of us. Clean and shaved and nicely dressed. Meal after Friday prayers is the equivalent of a formal Sunday dinner on her home world. We go and play nice. Generate good will and all that. Need a new job, and Ms Kamara may lead us to one. Anyone as can't generate good will—" he glared at Jayne "—will mind their manners and keep their mouths shut."

Now it was Simon who began to speak, but Mal still wasn't finished. "Monty's contact was no good. Zoe and me waited a couple hours at that bar, but he never showed. Wasn't quite a waste of time, though. We met up with three Purplebellies fought at Serenity Valley there."

Simon could no longer keep silent. "You got into a fight? Captain, that really isn't a—"

"Didn't get into no fight, Simon," Mal retorted. "Sat down with 'em and had a drink."

Simon was flabbergasted, but recovered quickly. "So now you're best of friends with the Alliance, sitting down to drinks with them?"

"I never had no quarrel with the soldiers themselves," Mal replied.

Simon couldn't believe his ears. "Right. You just shot at them."

To Simon's astonishment, Mal jumped up from his seat and gave him what Simon privately called Mal's "back down Jayne" look. Simon wasn't prepared to be on the receiving end of that look. "You don't want to go there, boy," Mal said in a cold voice.

"Don't talk on something you know nothing about," Zoe said icily, doubling Mal's menacing stare.

"Never stopped him before," Jayne quipped.

It broke the tension.

Mal took a deep breath, and resumed his seat. "Look, Doc, I asked you to listen 'cause I want you to apply that top three percent of yours to the situation at hand. We sat and had a drink and some talk. And mighty interesting talk it was." He briefly re-capped the conversation. "There's two things bother me in all this. Number one's Blue Sun. Everywhere you look, there's only one party comes out on top."

"The Alliance?" Way Jayne saw it, Alliance always come out on top.

"No, Jayne. I mean, Alliance beat the Independents down, took over our worlds. But who's getting the profit from it? Who supplies the Rim worlds? Who controls the shipping? Who rebuilds the worlds torn apart by the war? Who controls the new terraforming sites? Who has the jobs?"

"It's Blue Sun," Simon realized.

"Buck Holden said Blue Sun's everywhere, got a finger in every pie," Mal continued. "Trying to take over all the independent shipping on Beaumonde. He sounded an awful lot like your sister when he said it, Doc, even to using her very words. Said 'Blue Sun has all kinds roots and branches—they're _everywhere_, you can't even tell it's them. It's the little ones you don't see that have the teeth.' He even said, 'They come out of the black and bite you when you're least expecting it.'"

Simon was struck by the quote. "That is eerie."

"And they _have. _I don't know for sure why, but I reckon they're already after us. That stealth ship that tracked us through the Lion's Mouth. And quite possibly that sabotage job on our nav system when we were carrying Holden's inside info on Blue Sun. The stealth ship that went after us near Shadow coulda been Blue Sun, or mayhap some other 混蛋 húndàn was raping Shadow. All those times River was tuned in to the problem before we were. I figure she senses a connection we haven't made yet. I want you to try to find it."

"I'll look into it, Captain, first thing," Simon said, determined to pump Ip Neumann for information about his former employer, as well as to spend some time on the cortex looking up Blue Sun's connections to war reconstruction projects.

"What's number two?" Jayne asked into the silence.

"What?" Simon asked.

"What's the number two thing what's botherin' you, Mal?"

"Number two is Reavers," Mal replied.

Jayne shuddered. "That'd be my number one."

Mal began to expound. "On Miranda, we found out that the Alliance _made_ the Reavers, with that Pax stuff they put in the atmospheric conditioners."

Ip Neumann sat bolt upright, all ears. He wasn't crew, and hadn't been invited to the crew conference, but he hadn't been asked to leave the room, either. The Captain had just voluntarily mentioned Miranda. And he said _we _found_. _Had they _all_ been to Miranda?

"The Reavers probably been using that planet for a base ever since," Mal was saying, "first for food, then for fuel. Perfectly good planet with nobody to stop 'em. But that wasn't the first time they made Reavers."

"It wasn't?" Simon asked, astonished.

"Hell no, Doc. We had Reaver raids on Shadow when I was a boy, and that's long before Miranda was settled, and in a different sector altogether."

"And I thought you were just feeding Harken a pile of 狗屎 gǒu shǐ about Reavers," Jayne said. "You seemed to know all about them."

"The psychology and life-ways of Reavers…" Simon mused. Ip glanced over at him and opened his mouth, but no one was paying attention to him.

Kaylee looked at the Captain with a new realization. "You told Commander Harken that the boy from that derelict would turn Reaver—you _knew._"

Mal gave a slight shrug. "Well, I seen it before. And now, it seems, there were Reaver raids throughout the war, that _both_ sides called atrocities—and blamed on the other side. I heard about some of 'em during the war—couldn't believe anyone was dumb enough to believe the Alliance done it. Boy was I naïve—just 'cause _I _knew a Reaver raid when I heard about it didn't mean no one else could recognize it. So, I'm wonderin', where all those Reavers come from? How many times has some 不道德 混蛋 bùdàodé húndàn given the go-ahead to poison the atmosphere with that 狗屎 gǒu shǐ? How many places have the Reavers been made?"

"My gods, the implications of allowing such immoral experimentation on human beings—not just once—repeatedly—" Simon remembered how sickening he'd found the situation on Miranda. And how, literally, River had been sickened by it. And now Mal had put it together—天啊 tiān ā, that man had some keen insights—

"You think on it, Doc," Mal said. "Do some research if you can. Because I got a feeling that Blue Sun and Reavers are connected—through your sister."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

混蛋 húndàn [bastard]

狗屎 gǒu shǐ [crap]

不道德 混蛋 bùdàodé húndàn [immoral bastard]

狗屎 gǒu shǐ [crap]

天啊 tiān ā [god]

* * *

><p><em>Comments, anyone?<em>


	8. Chapter 8

One Man's Trash, part 4b

_Everybody wants to talk to the Captain._

* * *

><p>As Mal expected, nearly every crew member came up and buttonholed him in the interval between the conference and Friday Dinner. Kaylee reported that most of the needed parts were available at the salvage yards.<p>

"And how much this gonna cost, 妹妹 mèimei?" Mal asked, hating that he had to ask the question, and knowing that he wasn't gonna like the answer.

"Cap'n, I tried," Kaylee began, and Mal already felt bad for her. "I tried hard as I could to work the prices down." She told him an answer that was well beyond the amount of cash available.

"How much if we leave the nav sat out of the picture?" he asked. The answer was still too high. He kept asking, winnowing down the list until they were left with the bare minimum necessary to restore the engine to a condition suitable for another hard burn. And that was letting the atmo feed slide, which was a risky state of affairs. It still cost more than the cash he had on hand.

"I'm sorry, Kaylee," he said, pulling her in for a hug. "You did your best. We can't afford it unless some miracle drops money into our laps."

"Turn trash into treasure," River said, floating into the dining room to grab a protein bar for breakfast. She had been at work nearly round the clock, and hadn't joined the rest for the meal or the conference.

"How's that research comin', Albatross? Any notion who's blocked my account?"

"No news is—"

"Good news?" Kaylee finished eagerly.

"Bad news," Mal inserted, reading River's expression. "I can tell."

"I know who it's not, not who it is," River answered, and headed back to the bridge before anyone could speak again.

"Kaylee, I think we're just gonna hafta look a little lower for our engine parts."

"Cap'n, I already done checked every salvage yard within—"

"Ain't talkin' salvage yards no more. After dinner, we'll go look at the dump. Trash picking."

. . .

"Cap, Janice works at Ray's Hauling," Jayne said.

Mal was not interested. "Woman can work wherever she gorram pleases, Jayne. Ain't no concern a' mine."

"Hell, Mal, you got yourself in a bad mood, you can go—"

"Go what?" Mal took a step toward Jayne.

"Fine, Mal. Mebbe it don't matter ta you, lookin' a gift horse in the—" wherever it was a gift horse got looked at. Letting the details slide, Jayne pressed on. "Just sayin', I could ask her ta put in a good word at Ray's, mebbe there's a haulin' job for Serenity."

Mal did not relish the idea of turning Serenity into a garbage scow, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Maybe he couldn't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Alright, Jayne. You look into it. Check in with Janice—_after dinner_," he added as Jayne made to exit immediately, with a lit up expression on his face.

. . .

Everybody seemed to want a private talk with the Captain, so Ip bided his time. He took the opportunity to visit River on the bridge, where she was still working the cortex screen, trying to crack the code on the flag on the Captain's account.

"Any progress?" he asked her.

"Negative," River answered.

"That's a disappointment," Ip said with a sigh. "I would have thought that some of that information he sent would have been useful—"

"It was," River said, peevishly. She had been up half the night working on this problem, and was very frustrated that the code had been impossible to crack.

"It was? But why did you just say—"

"Negative progress," River snapped, as if explaining to an idiot. "The code did not originate within the bank. It is not local law enforcement. It is not federal law enforcement. It did not originate from the Bureau of Taxation and Revenue. It is not military. It is not from the Bureau of Investigations, nor from the Covert Operations Agency—"

"You checked _all_ of those?" Ip was astonished, knowing that to eliminate all of these agencies as the source of the blockage, she had to have hacked into all of their protected databases. How had she cracked the protections on the military and the Bureau of Investigations? And had she really hacked into the Covert Operations Agency?

"Your friend's information was _very _helpful," River stated simply. Her bad mood was beginning to ebb.

"Well, it seems to me you _have_ made progress," Ip said, his cheerful nature finding the silver lining in the cloud. "You've eliminated a lot of possibilities, although I can't imagine why Covert Operations would be interested in the captain of an obscure transport vessel."

River knew why they'd been interested, and she was delighted to have independent confirmation of the effectiveness of the Operative's work in squelching the government's search for the wayward Tam siblings.

"So, you've eliminated all of those sources. What's left?"

"Parliamentary directive," River answered, "or a private entity."

. . .

At least Simon's cloud had a silver lining. "You're sayin' you bought up a whole case of this antibiotic?"

"Yes, Captain."

"A fire-sale, huh?"

"They practically gave it to me for free," Simon answered. _Nearly, but not quite._ "I spent every coin I had, but if no other job offers, there are any number of Rim worlds where we can sell that medicine and the people will thank us."

"I thought you said the stuff was expired."

"Well, yes, I—"

"I don't want to be causin' nobody harm sellin' medicine that's gone bad."

"Captain, the expiration date is a legislated number. Studies were done, and scientists testified before Parliamentary committees, but in the end, the expiration date is a compromise worked out by politicians representing different interests—pharmaceutical companies, health insurance providers, hospital administrators, physicians and patients' advocates. Simply put, the quality of the drug is not noticeably affected by the mere passing of the expiration date. Over time, of course, most drugs gradually lose efficacy, but this can be minimized by proper storage. Many of the drugs I use aboard Serenity are officially 'expired.' They're much cheaper." Simon paused to let that thought sink in. "The antibiotic will still be safe and effective for a while longer. It's simply illegal to sell it."

Mal let a smile crack his face as he turned to Simon. The boy had a decent criminal mind. "Well, I don't see as how that ever stopped us before. Good work, Doc."

. . .

"Sure, why not?" Mal answered sarcastically. "Last run of the experiment only resulted in us gettin' chased by a stealth ship and by Reavers, what could possibly go wrong with another run?" He gave Ip a stern look, and was rewarded by seeing the young scientist wilt before his eyes, his bubble completely burst. Mal savored the cruel joke for a moment, then relented. "Nah, of course, Ip. The machine can stay." His smile faded. "Tell your professor I'm very grateful for the income. Dear knows we are in desperate need of it." Ip had still not recovered from the Captain's cruel sense of humor, so Mal went on, seriously this time. "Ip, you saved our 屁股 pìgu on Persephone when we needed ready money to outfit the ship for the cattle transport. Now we can't access the money we rightfully earned for that job, and you're offering to save our 屁股 pìgu again. I'm right grateful. You're a good man."

Ip recovered his balance quickly. "Where are we headed next, Captain? Because I'd like to tell Professor Rao. She told me that the locations were not so important as the route, but still—"

"Destination not so important, eh?" Mal asked. "How you get there is the worthier part." It pleased him to be able to apply Shepherd Book's saying to the situation.

Ip smiled. "It seems to me she'd put up with almost any destination, as long as different systems are involved. Eventually she'll want the unit delivered to the university on Bernadette, but not until after we've flown it around the 'Verse for a while." The Captain still had not answered the question, so he asked again. "So where _are_ we headed next?"

"Don't rightly know, yet," Mal answered, bleakly and truthfully. "Still gotta find us a job."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妹妹 mèimei [little sister]

屁股 pìgu [asses]

* * *

><p><em>So, if you were on the crew, what would you say to the Captain? Write me a review, and let me know!<em>


	9. Chapter 9

One Man's Trash, part 5a

_The crew has dinner with Juju Kamara and Mal tells how he found Serenity._

* * *

><p>Serenity set down on Juju Kamara's side of the world as Friday prayers were drawing to a close. Mal looked around at his crew with some pride as he prepared to lower the ramp. They cleaned up well. Zoe had amazed him by wearing an outfit he had never seen before—a soft brown tunic with a flowing edge, worn over soft, elegant stretch pants. It was practical, but more feminine than anything he'd seen Zoe wear in recent memory, excepting at Wash's funeral. River wore her usual long dress, with shoes, for a change, but what was striking was the care she had taken with her hair—she'd actually styled it, instead of letting it hang in random curtains. Kaylee was positively glowing, and it wasn't just that she'd changed out of her overalls and cleaned all the engine grease off her face. Inara, with her impeccable taste, had chosen a dress that was not too fancy for the occasion, but nonetheless made her look special. She stood out.<p>

Serenity's men were looking fine, too. Simon had dug out some of those pretty fits he'd come aboard with, and put on one of his Core suits. Mal hadn't seen him wear something like that for—well, about a year, and that's when it struck him how much Simon had changed. He wasn't really a pretentious Core stiff anymore, and the suit no longer suited him, if you could say such a thing. Simon belonged to Serenity now. Jayne was wearing his shore leave clothes, and if you didn't know that those were the clothes he wore when he went whoring, you might have thought he looked almost—well, respectable. Dr Ip had pulled out some kind of Asian-style suit that Mal had never seen. It definitely had a Core look to it, but without the stiffness of Simon's formal clothing.

Mal was dressed in his best and only suit, and he had done whatever he could to make himself presentable. He offered Inara his arm, feeling that to have her by his side could only make him look better.

It did, and in ways of which he was completely unaware. Without conscious thought, he smiled more, and the smiles transformed his features. Worry lines faded. He positively shone with love and admiration, and looked years younger.

Juju Kamara was struck by the change in the Captain as she welcomed him and his crew. Mal made introductions for the members of the crew Juju had not previously met. "And this is Inara, my…" he hesitated.

"Your wife?" Juju asked, as she held out her hand to Inara, with a smile. It was clear the Captain was devoted to this woman.

"No, we're not married," the Captain said, the color rising in his cheeks, which made him, if possible, more 英俊 yīngjùn. "We're…courting."

"But you do intend to marry her?" Juju drilled the Captain.

"Nothing would please me better," Mal answered, startled into revealing his innermost wishes, then he blushed furiously. He could not look at Inara. What had gotten into him? Here he was, telling one and all that he wanted to marry Inara, when he had never discussed the subject with her! And just a couple of days ago, he'd announced to the entire crew that he wanted to have children with Inara—_five_ children, no less—again, without discussing it with her, just blurting out his heart's wishes in front of everybody. He dropped his eyes to the ground, embarrassed with himself. He was such a fool. That is how he missed the look on Inara's face, a genuine and radiant smile that reached her eyes.

. . .

Although Juju's husband was from Beylix, dinner was in the Bandiagaran tradition. In the center of the room was a low table surmounted by an enormous platter heaped with steaming rice. Juju and her daughters and sons emerged from the kitchen carrying bowls of food, which were emptied onto the center of the mound of rice, and each guest was given a spoon. They all sat or knelt on the floor mats around the table, and at Juju's cue, everybody began to eat the rice and delicious sauces off the sector of the platter in front of them.

For a few minutes, there were few sounds beyond appreciative comments of "delicious", "美味 měiwèi" and "damn tasty"—the last hastily censored to improve its politeness.

"What is this dish called?" Inara inquired.

"Yassa poulet," Juju answered. They all spooned up more mouthfuls of the delicious chicken and onions and spicy sauce.

Jayne, having cleared his sector of the platter in record time, was encroaching on his neighbors'. He reached across Kaylee to grab a chicken leg. "You're only supposed to eat what's in front of you! Not what's in front of the next person!" Simon hissed.

Zoe sipped the frothy bittersweet tea, and looked around at the gathering, comfortable for the first time in many days. The soft stretch pants and tunic were from Inara, who had come to her that morning, diffidently offering the gift, unsure of the reception. Zoe had actually hugged her.

As the edge was taken off their hunger, the talk became livelier. They discussed local news on Beylix, Serenity's journey, how the herd was settling into their new home.

During a pause in the conversation, River declared, "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

"That is true," Juju agreed. "Captain, how is it your pilot is so wise, when she is yet so young?"

Jayne put in his two cents. "Girl's a…genius," he said, hastily gulping down the "ruttin'" that he'd automatically inserted into the phrase.

"She is at that," Mal agreed.

Juju's husband nodded. "Here on Beylix, the local government has made other worlds' trash the lifeblood of the community. Others want to get rid of it. They pay us to take it. And trash is the backbone of the economy."

Juju spoke up. "On my native world of Bandiagara, we have long had to make do with the cast-offs from other worlds. A sewing machine that is too old, a bicycle with a broken chain, a pump that won't draw, a mule with no seats, no dashboard, no ignition system—these are thrown away in the Core worlds. If they reach Bandiagara, they are treasures. The sewing machine allows the tailor to set up a business, and the tailor's whole family can make a living. The bicycle is fixed, and someone has transportation and is able take a good job farther from home. The pump is repaired, and draws water to irrigate the crops in the dry season, turning a subsistence farm into one with a surplus. Someone gets the mule to run, and is able to take their goods to market."

Juju's husband agreed. "There are many ways to turn trash into treasure."

"I have to agree," said Mal. "After all, I found Serenity in a junkyard."

The others were all eager for him to tell the story.

"It was after the War," Mal began. "Zoe and I had just been released—"

"From the prisoner-of-war camp?" Simon asked.

"Internment camp," Zoe corrected. "They didn't consider us prisoners-of-war."

"Rebels," Mal inserted. "Traitors."

"They tried the officers for treason," Zoe said.

"They tried you for treason?" Ip asked, round-eyed.

"No," Mal answered. "I wasn't commissioned. I was a non-com, a sergeant. They just held us a spell, then let us go."

Zoe knew how much was omitted in that simple statement. Conditions in the camps were bad. They didn't complain because the last few weeks in the Valley, they had nothing. No food left to speak of, no medicine, very little water. So at first, life in the camps was better—got fed regularly, one meal a day. The water was untainted. There were prison doctors, and even a prison hospital. But then the harassment started. Interrogations. No one had any military information worth knowing—Mal was one of the highest ranks, and all he knew was his last orders from high command to hold the Valley, delivered weeks before the surrender. When they couldn't get information, they got mad, and the beatings started. Mal had a smart mouth, and that marked him for special attention. Six months in that internment camp. Zoe shuddered to herself, and shut the door on the dark memories.

"So then you were free to go home," Juju's husband spoke into the silence. Juju shot him a quelling look.

"Didn't have no home to go to," Mal said simply. "Shadow was destroyed. Zoe didn't have no home neither."

"Born and raised on a spaceship," Zoe said. "Casualty of war." There was more silence. While Serenity's crew all knew that the Captain's world was destroyed in the war, not all of them realized that Zoe had also lost her home.

"I was one of the lucky ones," Mal said, surprising everyone. He flicked a glance at Zoe, and she continued the story.

"We spent a few weeks wandering the slums of Hera, with nothin' but the clothes on our backs," Zoe supplied.

"Sleeping outdoors with nothin' but the stars for a blanket," Mal continued.

"Scrounging for scraps to fill our bellies," Zoe added.

"Word reached me that there was a credit account with my name on it at Hera Central Bank," Mal finished. "So I went to claim the legacy."

"Who left you an account?" Simon asked, curious.

"I never did know for certain. But I reckon it was my ma. Saw trouble comin' on Shadow, sold off what she could, and wired the moveable assets into an account in my name on the world I was last known to be on." He paused to take a deep breath, then continued.

"It wasn't much, but it was enough. I went to a used spaceship dealer. Gave me the hard sell on all sorts of broken-down craft. Told me I wanted a monstrous junkheap with a Capissen 38 engine—" he grinned at Kaylee, who grinned back knowingly "—but I'd already spotted her.

"She was sittin' in a far-off part of the lot, where they kept the ships that were too broken-down to sell; kept 'em to cannibalize parts off of, mostly. Most people woulda looked and just seen what she was like on the surface," Mal continued, with a far away look. "But I saw the heart of her, and loved what I saw inside. Not what she appeared to be, but what she really was, and what she could be. I knew I could be good to her, get her put together, complete her, and there was no doubt at all in my mind how good she would be for me."

Zoe looked intensely at her friend. He wasn't just talking about Serenity. He was talking about Inara. He was telling a love story on two levels.

"Zoe thought I was crazy."

"Still do."

"Hēi, easy there."

"That ship was a deathtrap."

"You asked me if I paid money for her…on purpose."

"I said you were robbed."

"You called her a piece of 废物 fèiwù."

"废物 Fèiwù!" Kaylee exclaimed indignantly.

"Kaylee, Serenity then weren't anything like so good as she is today. Captain put heart and soul—"

"And every platinum I had to my name—"

"—into fixing her up and making her fly again."

"Turned trash into treasure," River said.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," Mal reiterated, suddenly getting it. "Exactly."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

英俊 yīngjùn [handsome]

美味 měiwèi [delicious]

嘿 Hēi [Hey]

废物 fèiwù [rubbish]

* * *

><p><em>So that's how Mal found Serenity, at least in this story. How did <em>you_ find Serenity? Leave a comment or review._


	10. Chapter 10

One Man's Trash, part 5b

_Springing into action_

* * *

><p>When the crew returned to Serenity, Mal sprang into action.<p>

"Dr Ip, if you'll kindly wave your professor and solidify the contract for the next phase of the grav experiment, I'd appreciate it. Have her transfer payment into your account, then withdraw the cash, like last time. Soon as there's ready money in hand, River, you see to the needs of the ship. Basic foodstuffs, water, and as much fuel as we can afford. Inara, if you're willing to lend River a hand, I'd sure appreciate it. Zoe, Simon, you come along with me and Kaylee. We're going to scour the dump for useful parts, for Serenity and for cargo. Jayne, you come along with us, we'll drop you off at Ray's Hauling to check in with your friend, see what Ray's can offer Serenity." He tossed comm units to the various parties.

The largest group, the dump scourers and Jayne, took Shuttle Two and the mule. Mal flew Kaylee and Simon directly to the dump, while Zoe took a turn through the edge of town and dropped Jayne at Ray's Hauling before circling back to join the others at the dump.

As soon as they landed, Mal divided them into pairs and assigned sectors of the dump to comb through. Although at first appearance the dump was nothing but a vast mountain of random garbage, they soon learned to distinguish the more industrial garbage from the domestic, and focused on the locations where they were more likely to find machine parts. The smell was bad, but within fifteen minutes, everyone but Simon had learned to disregard it, and simply worked with dogged determination. Within an hour, Kaylee had located a discarded ship's console. It wasn't from a Firefly, but it had most of the necessary navigational gauges and an intact display screen. Of course there was no way to see if it really worked, but Kaylee inspected the wiring and decided she could make it work, or at least cannibalize it for parts.

Simon and Zoe kept a lookout for household items—sewing machines, as Juju had mentioned, pumps, electric generators, solar panels, refrigeration units, bicycles, tractors, mules and other vehicles, agricultural equipment, air compressors.

Mal kept his eyes open for a nav sat, but didn't locate one—not even a badly damaged one. He did find some synchronizers, an undamaged set of fusion injectors, and a catalyzer for a compression coil, which he recognized perfectly well. Kaylee located a complete set of reverse couplers in the back of a burnt-out shuttlecraft, and hit paydirt when she located what appeared to be the discard bin from a spaceport machine shop.

"Oooh, look at the pretties!" she exclaimed in a voice that echoed around the bin she'd climbed into. "Now will you look at that! Perfectly good mag spider, it's just a discontinued model. And retro stabilizers—reckon they didn't need those for the hotrod space yachts they were servicing. An' a holographic display panel—prolly nothin' wrong with it but the color didn't suit the customer."

In the end, Mal determined to load almost the entire contents of that bin into the shuttle. Zoe flew the first shuttle load back to Serenity, with Simon along to help her unload, while Mal and Kaylee continued picking through the trash.

. . .

"Hey, Janice." Jayne spoke quietly. He didn't know how many other workers there were at Ray's, and didn't know whether disturbing Janice at her place of work was allowed or not.

"Jayne!" she hollered, and threw herself on him, hugging and kissing with robust enthusiasm.

So much for bein' all discreet and quiet-like. "Listen," Jayne gasped between kisses. "Janice." This was why he didn't—"We need ta"—like to kiss 'em—"talk"—on the mouth. _Aw, hell_, Jayne thought, as Janice's hands worked their way under his belt. _Time enough for talkin' later._

. . .

She kept her eyes open, and while her hands retrieved coils of wire, circuit boards, pump handles and condensers, part of her mind kept up a constant search pattern for the telltale drape. She'd been there for two hours, and had flown three shuttle runs, before she spotted what she was looking for.

It was filthy. It looked like something musta been living in it, then thrown up on it and died in it, but Zoe looked at it with the delight of a new mother. It clearly had belonged to a giant, someone bigger than Monty. A warrior of yesteryear. Like Beowulf. Or Grendel. Maybe Grendel's mother. Zoe picked it up, held it in front of her appraisingly, and smiled broadly. Genuine para-aramid synthetic fiber and carbon fiber composite interweave, the latest in bulletproof technology. And it was big enough for her to wear twelve months pregnant with a hippopotamus.

. . .

Simon felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up, and he straightened to find himself squaring off with a fierce, growling junkyard dog.

"Nice poochie, nice…" he said nervously, trying for a soothing voice. You weren't supposed to show fear: they could smell it. His father had never allowed them to have a dog when they were growing up, and he didn't know quite what to do. "Nice puppy, good doggie…" He took a step. The dog growled louder and snapped. This must be one of those breeds that was bred to be fierce, to guard, trained to take a bite out of strangers' legs.

"Doc, you found any—" Mal stopped short, seeing the stand-off between the Doc and the mutt. It was clear the Doc had no idea how to deal with a dog. Probably never had a puppy growin' up, poor sumbitch. Those rich Core folks had strange notions of how to raise children. Woulda been funny, any other time—but they didn't have time to waste, and it wouldn't do to have the Doc pinned down by the pup, paralyzed and unable to work.

Simon watched in amazement as Mal made friends with the fierce guard dog. How did he do that? Now the fearsome beast was licking his hand, wagging its tail. Mal gave the dog a pat on the neck and it trotted off round a mountain of trash, baring its teeth one last time for a token growl as it passed Simon.

. . .

Sometime later, when Simon had long dismissed the dog from his mind, he heard it again. It was growling at him, and this time, it had brought company. A man. An armed man. Simon resisted the urge to pat himself down for the small pocket pistol Mal had insisted he carry on the job. He couldn't have found it in time, even if he remembered which pocket he'd put it in.

"Who are you, and what are you doing?" the man demanded.

. . .

.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>I welcome your comments and reviews.<em>


	11. Chapter 11

One Man's Trash, Part 6a

_Celebrating aphorisms: Jayne has made his bed, and now he must lie in it. The others turn trash into treasure._

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry?" Simon said, stupidly.<p>

"What the 地狱 dìyù are you doing here?" the man reiterated. "This is private property. Get the hell out."

"I'm…" Simon, for once, was at a loss for words. The man confronting him was no fool, and something about him told Simon that he was trained to use weapons and wouldn't hesitate to do so.

After the ship had been invaded by the bounty hunter Jubal Early, Mal had insisted that everyone aboard learn to handle firearms, and had given some basic training in handling a stand-off. Simon was trying to remember what he'd said. He knew that in a situation like this, Mal would have a plan. He'd have a plan, and it would probably work. Simon tried to think like Mal.

He kept his hands in plain sight. That he remembered from Mal's training_—"Don't give 'em a reason to shoot you."_ He knew Mal was working somewhere off to his left, probably just out of sight, and started to walk that direction.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" the armed man demanded.

"I'm getting the hell out," Simon replied, "like you said to."

"Out's that way," the man gestured with his weapon.

"Right," Simon said, and started walking.

"Sullivan, there's no need for this." Where had Mal come from?

"Sergeant Reynolds. What the hell are you doing here? Trespassing?" That was obvious. His face hardened. "Illegal dumping? That's a serious crime here on Beylix." Another thought crossed his mind, and he glanced over at Simon, then returned his gaze to Mal. "Don't tell me you're lifting 垃圾 lājī, too."

Simon made a point of not looking at the pile of machinery he'd set aside for Serenity.

"Recycling, Sullivan. There's things in here don't belong in trash. Just re-sorting them into their proper places."

The armed man did not change expression, and it was unclear to Simon if he had accepted the Captain's explanation. "He with you?" The armed man, Sullivan it appeared—did the Captain know _everybody?_—gestured at Simon.

"Yep."

"Your platoon?"

"No. Too young for the Valley."

Sullivan inspected Simon. "He's no soldier."

Simon spoke up, "I'm a d—"

Mal interrupted. "He's on my crew." Mal flicked Simon a look. Simon couldn't read volumes of battle tactics out of it like Zoe could, but he did get that "shut up" was part of the message.

"I don't know what the hell you're up to, Reynolds," said Sullivan, as his dog trotted up to Mal, wagging its tail. "This is private property. No one's allowed to haul stuff outta here, and no one's allowed to dump here without paying the fee. Illegal dumping is a serious crime on Beylix," he repeated, as if to emphasize the point.

"Ain't planning on any illegal dumping, Sullivan," Mal responded, patting the dog and scratching behind its ears. "Recycling, that's the honest truth. Ain't taking anything but what should've been put elsewhere in the first place."

"Well, that's the truth, now, isn't it?" Sullivan responded, conversationally. "It boggles the mind, what people throw away. You wouldn't believe how much effort we gotta put into sorting out the recyclables from the 鱼臭 垃圾 yú chòu lājī here at this dump. Half this stuff belongs in recycling, anyhow."

"It does," Mal agreed placidly. "I've always believed in recycling. Do it as much as humanly possibly. It's just common sense, ain't it?"

"Look, I'll keep Hamm and Goldsmith from coming over this way. Just get it done discreetly, and get out before Secka comes on shift at seven." He turned half away, then added, "Reynolds, you make it worth my while, next time I'll show you sector eighty-four. It's already sorted."

. . .

"Oh yeah," Jayne said huskily, when he could speak again.

"My hero needs a little lovin'," Janice said, picking herself up and straightening her clothes.

"Listen, Janice, about that hero stuff—" Jayne began.

"Ssshhh, don't speak, sugar, I got better things for your mouth ta do."

"Janice—no, Janice—stop. I'm s'posed to talk to Ray."

"Ray?"

"'Bout a job. You see, the ship I come on, need a job—"

"You want a job?" Janice sank to her knees in front of him.

"Gorrammit, woman, stand up, and stop interruptin'!"

Janice made a pouty mouth at him, but didn't speak.

"Ship I come here on, we're lookin' for a job, haulin' or somethin', and I thought as how maybe you had an in with Ray's Haulin' here and could maybe help us to some payin' work."

She was silent for a moment, and he was afraid she'd taken his admonishment not to speak a bit too seriously, when she said, "Jayne, you know why I come to Beylix?"

He didn't, truth be told, but ventured, "'Cause it's better than Canton?"

"It's 'cause I got family here, Jayne. Ray is my uncle. Office manager is my Aunt Ginny. I got a job here, and they both help me out, so's I can—" She stopped short. Then she took his hand, and said, "Come on back, Jayne. There's someone here you need ta meet."

Jayne followed her as she led the way through a doorway, down a hall, and into—not an office, as he expected, not to Ray, but to—a nursery? "What the 地狱 dìyù ?" he began.

She reached down into the crib, and picked up a five-month-old baby. "I'd like you to meet your son."

. . .

Mal, Zoe, Simon and Kaylee were tired, hot, and covered with filth. They'd loaded up the shuttle several more times, as well as the mule, and taken turns shuttling the stuff back to Serenity. All had their share of getting out of the hot sun and taking a quick snack break on the ship. But there would be no real rest until the job was done. They packed the shuttle with a last load, including a windfall of five reels of wire, various gauges, a liquid crystal display, and a discarded electrician's kit containing an assortment of resistors and capacitors, including micro sizes for solid state boards.

They were about to load the mule with the last load when the comm crackled to life. "Mal!" Jayne's voice came through loud and clear over a background of women's screams and children's wailing. "I got a situation here. Need some back-up!"

"On our way," Mal responded, as he and Zoe checked their weapons and hopped onto the mule. "Kaylee, you and Simon take the shuttle back to Serenity and load 'er up. Tell River we might need to fly 马上 mǎshàng."

"Right, Cap'n," Kaylee responded, as Mal and Zoe left a trail of dust behind them.

. . .

"It's true, isn't it, that we throw away many things we should re-use," Inara agreed.

"I've always said, that sooner or later, we will be mining the trash dumps for rare metals and parts," Ip said, "things that were not valued when they were thrown away. They'll become increasingly rare, and we'll kick ourselves for being so callous and casual about their use. The dumps will become the richest sources for some elements, and it'll be cheaper than mining or smelting ore, or manufacturing de novo."

River agreed, adding, "Nothing is wasted, on a spaceship. We recycle the air, we recycle the water. Even the solid waste is re-usable."

Inara didn't want to think about re-using the contents of the septic vac system, and was silent. Suddenly the comm crackled to life. It was Simon.

"River, the Captain and Zoe took off on the mule to deal with a situation with Jayne. The Captain wants you to get Serenity ready to fly, just in case."

"Where are you, Simon?"

"Kaylee and I are at the dump, with the last load of spare parts. We'll be returning to Serenity shortly." The communication ended with a pop.

"That's what you think," River said, to an astonished Ip and Inara.

. . .

As the dust settled, Simon and Kaylee looked at one another for a moment. Then Simon wiped the sweat off his forehead, picked up a broken bicycle pump, and he and Kaylee headed for the shuttle.

The entire cargo area was packed with parts, reels of wire, machines in various states of disrepair, metal pieces more or less corroded, and bits of metal and plastic. It was a full load. Kaylee and Simon threaded their way through to the cockpit and sat down in the seats. Both waited, taking deep breaths, as the intensity of the last few hours' work began to drain away. Simon opened his eyes, realizing that they were still sitting on the ground.

"So…do you know how to fly this thing?" he asked, hopefully.

Kaylee shook her head. "No. You?"

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

地狱 dìyù [hell]

垃圾 lājī [garbage]

鱼臭 垃圾 yú chòu lājī [fish-stinking garbage]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

马上 mǎshàng [right away]

* * *

><p><em>Oh no! Are Simon and Kaylee marooned? And what's going on with Jayne? Time for you to recycle some words...send 'em back my way and write a review.<em>


	12. Chapter 12

One Man's Trash, Part 6b

_Jayne has made his bed, and now he must lie in it. A rescue._

* * *

><p>Zoe pulled the mule to a halt near Ray's Hauling, and Mal and Zoe tumbled out, ready for immediate action. They could hear the commotion inside the building—screams and crashing sounds, as objects were thrown, breaking. They entered the building expeditiously, and with caution.<p>

The nursery door burst open, and Zoe and Mal pointed their weapons into the room. The scene was chaotic. A loudly shrieking woman held a loudly squalling baby on one hip, while she used her other arm to hurl objects, with good aim, at Jayne Cobb. Jayne was trying to make himself small against one wall, using his arms to shield himself, but not making a move against her.

"You are, you _are!_" the woman yelled.

"No I ain't," Jayne replied, like a broken record. "Ain't no way."

"You are, an' I know it!" 哎呀 Āiyā that woman had a good set of lungs. "An' _you_ know it!"

"Ma'am," Mal said. "Ma'am," he repeated, raising his voice to be heard above the cries of the infant. "嘿 Hēi ma'am, listen up!" he shouted, approaching her.

"Jayne, call off your man!" Janice hollered. Mal looked offended. "And your woman, too!" she added, as Zoe flanked her. She eyed their state of filth. "They stink to high heaven! What the 地狱 dìyù they been doin'? Dumpster divin'?"

"I ain't no ruttin' father," Jayne said stubbornly, ignoring Janice's comments about Mal and Zoe.

"This is _your _son. Your son! Don't ya understand?" Janice shouted, as the baby sucked in a deep breath and started up again with a great wail.

"No way, no ruttin' way," Jayne repeated insistently, as Janice commenced more incomprehensible shrieking.

"你们都 闭嘴! Nǐmen dōu bìzǔi!" Mal demanded.

Even the baby was stunned into silence for a moment. Then he resumed his fretful crying, in complete sympathy with his mother's emotion.

"Call off your man," Janice insisted, with quiet forcefulness, for a change.

"I ain't his man," Mal said in an irritated voice. "I'm his captain. Now, anybody want to explain what the 地狱 dìyù is goin' on here?"

. . .

"There has got to be an operators' manual somewhere," Simon said, with increasing frustration, as he pulled out the contents of the cockpit storage locker.

Kaylee sat with her hands on the controls, trying to feel her way into the machine. Nothin'. Then she got on her back and looked up under the control panel. Everything was right where it should be, in good working order. She understood that part just fine. Machines just had workin's, and they talked to her. But when she sat down in the pilot's seat and put her hands on the yoke, she felt nothing at all.

"You know how this shuttle works, don't you Kaylee? There must be an ignition, a throttle, a start button, a—" Simon ran out of synonyms.

"I know how the engine works, Simon. I got no idea about the start-up sequence."

"Maybe we can download an operators' manual from the cortex feed," Simon suggested. "How do you turn the cortex feed on?" He searched around the multitude of buttons and dials on the control panel, at a loss. Most of the buttons and sliders were unlabelled, and those that were had incomprehensible abbreviations. "What's an R-NAV?" he asked.

"I got no idea," Kaylee answered.

"I thought machines just…speak to you…you know—"

"Sorry, Simon, this machine just ain't talkin' to me at all."

"Well, let's try logic, then," Simon said, with increasing irritation. "There's got to be something that turns the engine on, then something that creates vertical thrust to lift the shuttle off the ground…"

"Yeah, Simon, and there's horizontal stabilizers and attitude jets and a grav boot and a—Simon! It don't matter!" Kaylee was getting increasingly annoyed. "It don't matter a bit! There's all the parts there, right where they should be. Don't mean I know how to fly the 该死的 gāisǐde thing."

They sat and huffed for a moment, then she said, "Didn't you never fly a hovercraft or nothin', when you were back in the Core?"

"No, we had a driver," he retorted, more sharply than he really intended.

"Ya never even learned to fly a hovercraft?"

"There was no occasion to learn—"

"On Harvest, all the rich kids learned to fly a hovercraft, an' everyone learned to drive a groundcar, 'less they were too poor to have one," Kaylee retorted, scornfully. "If this were the mule, I could drive it, easy."

Simon folded his arms disdainfully. "So because I can't fly a shuttle, or a hovercraft—"

"Well what gorram good is that top three-percent brain a' yours if you can't even fly a gorram—"

"Gorrammit, Kaylee! You're the mechanic! I'm just a rutting ship's doctor! What the 地狱 dìyù do I know?"

. . .

"Seems to me there's an easy solution to this problem," Mal said, deliberately calm. "Now let's just be reasonable."

"I'm all manner of reasonable," Janice said in a voice that threatened to go from zero to shrieky in a matter of seconds, "it's him what's acting like a jackass!" She stabbed her finger at Jayne's chest.

"Ain't no jackass. Ain't nobody's father neither."

Mal intervened before they could escalate again. "The solution is we all go back to the ship. Our doc is top three percent, Core-educated, best doc anywhere. I'm sure he's got a test he can run, figure out which one a' you is right." He cocked his head at them. "So we got a deal?"

They all piled into the mule, Jayne making a point of sitting next to Mal in front. Zoe sat in back next to Janice and the baby. As they got in, Janice looked assessingly at Zoe. "You're carrying, aren't you?" Janice asked.

Zoe raised her eyebrow slightly, and by the slightest movement of her body, indicated the gun strapped to her leg.

"A child," Janice amended.

"I am," Zoe replied coolly. "And I know damn well who the father is."

"So do I," Janice said huffily, and settled herself in the seat with the baby on her lap.

. . .

"Are you sure about this?" Inara asked. "Simon said Mal wanted us to stay with the ship."

"False alarm," said River. "Jayne made his bed, and now he must lie in it. Simon needs rescuing."

"What about Kaylee?" Inara asked.

"Holding her own," River answered.

They landed at the edge of the dump, right next to Shuttle Two. They opened the door to a blast of hot, putrid air that roiled up from the mounds of trash baking in the sunlight and recoiled, both momentarily glad that Mal hadn't assigned _them_ to dump duty that afternoon. They turned their attention to Shuttle Two, where the sounds of escalating bickering could be heard even through the closed door.

"Gorrammit, Simon! You're so gorram smart, you figure it out! I'm leaving!"

The door slid open, and Kaylee appeared, with an expression like thunder on her face—looking like something neither Inara nor River had ever seen. Where was Miss Sunshine, and who was this scowling witch who had taken over her body?

"Oh!" Kaylee exclaimed, astonished, and her face underwent a dramatic shift.

"Rescue party," River announced, and strode into Shuttle Two.

"Come with me, 妹妹 mèimei," Inara said, putting an arm around the younger woman's shoulder and guiding her towards her shuttle.

. . .

Simon was still seething when he emerged from Shuttle Two after it had docked with Serenity.

"You're needed Simon. Have to figure out about the babies," River called after him, as he stomped down toward the passenger dorm.

"I need to wash this filth off my body!" Simon shouted. He slammed his way into his now seldom-used dorm room, grabbed his kit bag and a towel, and was headed toward the shower when a commotion at the cargo bay door demanded his attention.

Mal strode up the ramp, followed by Jayne and a woman Simon didn't recognize carrying a baby, both of them quarreling back and forth, while Zoe brought up the rear, glowering at them all.

"Simon!" Mal called. "Got a job for you! I need a paternity test here, 马上 mǎshàng!"

Simon stared at Mal, dumbfounded. Mal scowled back at him and quirked an eyebrow at Jayne and the woman. Simon got it. They all crowded into the infirmary. Simon readied the test, and took finger pricks from Janice and the infant. He was tempted to take a finger prick from Mal, but another look at the Captain's exasperated face told him the joke was not worth the price he would pay, so he pricked Jayne's finger without further ado.

The happy couple stood around bickering while waiting for the test results.

"I always use protection," Jayne insisted. "Always."

"It's not one hundred percent effective," Simon pointed out, as he followed the test protocol.

"He's right," Mal added. "There can be accidents. Half the babies in the 'Verse wouldn't be born if contraception was one hundred percent foolproof."

"That's for damn sure," Zoe said, patting her belly, "and I for one am glad of it."

"You are?" Janice asked. "I was. I was so proud to be carryin' the Hero of Canton's child!" she declared. "Now he ain't even glad to know I done it for him!"

Simon took a deep breath. He turned to face the assembled people. "This child is not Jayne's."

"Not Jayne's!" echoed Janice. "Well whose is he, then?"

No one had an answer for her.

Mal steered Jayne out of the infirmary and spoke to him quietly, pressing something into his hand. Then Zoe guided Janice out of the infirmary. Janice spoke to her son in a tearful sing-song, but the baby, worn out by all the emotion, had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Like most sleeping babies, he now looked like a perfect angel, and if she hadn't heard it herself, Zoe never would have believed him capable of pumping out the decibels like he had. Though, perhaps, given his inheritance from his mother's side, it wasn't surprising.

"He really is a sweetie," Zoe said quietly to Janice, asking permission with her eyes to stroke the child's soft downy hair.

"He is the best baby ever," Janice said tearfully, "and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the 'Verse."

Zoe joined Mal in the cargo bay, giving Jayne some privacy with Janice in the passenger lounge. Janice looked at Jayne with tears in her eyes. Now he was gonna gloat, and tell her I-told-ya-so. Men could be such 混蛋 húndàn. Jayne approached and she braced herself.

He spoke in a surprisingly soft and gentle voice. "Janice, I want you ta know—I'm a—it's—well, I'm honored ta think you wanted a child a' mine, even knowin' I weren't gonna be around ta help you with it. You're a brave woman." He cupped her face in his hands. "You're a very fine woman, an' I'm pleased I met ya again here on Beylix." He gave her a kiss. Weren't gonna be on her mouth, but she turned her head. Then he handed her a little package. "This is for the little one. Even though he ain't mine, it's only right that somebody give you a helping hand." Whatever else he was gonna say was cut off by another kiss.

"Jayne!" she said, in a breathless whisper. "You're still the Hero of Canton." Then she carried her little bundle of joy proudly across the junk-strewn cargo bay, down the ramp, and into the mule, where Zoe waited to take her home.

. . .

"It don't make no sense," Jayne said. He and Mal were leaning over the catwalk rail, overlooking the mountains of spare parts heaped all about. "Hell, Mal, she still thinks I'm some kind of ruttin' hero. Don't understand why them Mudder folk thought I was a hero in the first place." He paused, a disturbed look on his face. "Hell, the kid'll probably grow up with her tellin' him that I'm his father, no matter that the test said I weren't."

"Most like," Mal agreed. "It's not about what's true, it's about what she needs. You already done more fathering for that kid than whatever 混蛋 húndàn sired him. Just by showin' you cared about him and his mother."

"Never aimed to be a father."

"It's about what she needs, Jayne. She needs her kid's father to be a hero, and you're the hero she knows."

"Still don't make no sense."

. . .

.

.

.

_fin_

glossary

哎呀 Āiyā [Damn]

嘿 Hēi [Hey]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

你们都 闭嘴! Nǐmen dōu bìzǔi! [Everybody shut the hell up]!

该死的 gāisǐde [damn]

妹妹 mèimei [little sister]

马上 mǎshàng [right now]

混蛋 húndàn [bastards]

* * *

><p><em>And that's the end...for now. The next story picks up right where this leaves off. So, how did you like it? Write a review. :-)<em>


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